Nameless Exile
by Maethril Aranel
Summary: As a Ranger, Strider is exiled to life in the wild, where treachery is never far. But when a dark murderer seeks his blood, will his inner demons resurface? If so, his fate is in the hands of Legolas, the tormented elf he fears to call friend...
1. Chapter 1: The Tears of Time

_**Hey, Maethril Aranel here. I've gotten good feedback for my other stories and hope that readers enjoy this one as well!**_

_**Disclaimer: The point of a disclaimer is for a person to openly state that they do not own Lord of the Rings. But the real question is: Why do so few people know the year in which the cream separator was invented?**_

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Chapter 1: The Tears of Time

_2952 T.A._

The man on the ground trembled with cold and fear as falling rain collected in deep puddles about his knees. The thick coat had been ripped from his back, and the rest of his clothes were in tatters that revealed gashes and bruises, leaving him with nothing but the freezing wind and merciless storm. His hands were bound so tight that the tips of his fingers were numb and blue.

Before him stood all the other members of his company...his former friends. As the man looked up, a flash of steel was reflected in his deep brown eyes. The sword was coarse, without elegance or grace, and as he looked up at the length of the blade he could already feel its touch of ice that was already so evident in the eyes that looked his way.

"You betrayed us, Táridil," said Finhîr, one of the Rangers standing near the back. He stepped forward with a voice that was low and bitter, and his expression was one of suppressed rage. "What did you think you could accomplish by killing him? Who promised you a reward?"

Táridil shook in sobs, shaking his head, but the denial was worthless, for he was indeed a traitor. He turned his wrists viciously against the ropes...but no escape would get him away from the guilt that would linger until his death. And his death did not seem incredibly far off. Táridil knew that he rested on death's doorstep.

"Answer me!"

The traitor turned away, determined not to look Finhîr in the eyes as he spoke. "I told you before," he said quietly with a quaking voice. "I don't know who he was. He was hooded and mysterious, and offered me...he offered me riches, among many other desirable things, along with power...Finhîr, my brother, try to understand, I needed a life beyond that which I had..."

Finhîr's eyes narrowed. "And his price was for you to murder your leader and friend? To end his life to gain useless riches?"

He was shaken by tears and said nothing more. Finhîr moved to kick him but was withheld, and Táridil managed a small nod.

Gaerrond, the Ranger beside Finhîr, stepped forward. "There is only one penalty for betrayal and attempted murder among us."

The Rangers all turned expectantly and silently to the man holding the sword. He had said nothing this entire time, but Táridil had shrunk beneath the stare of green eyes that peered up from beneath a cover of dark, wet hair. The man's grip on the sword was tense. He raised it and gently set the blade against Táridil's neck.

"_Guth enín goth_," he said quietly. "I am sorry it had to end this way."

"Please," pleaded Táridil. "I...my friend, my brother, for all the times I have been good to you..."

"_Guth enín goth..._death to the enemy, Táridil. You have heard me say it in battle. You are my friend no more. By your own choices have you become my enemy, and thus, it is death that I give to you, as you meant to give to me." And so the man raised his sword. "Goodbye, Táridil."

With those final words, the desperate search for hope in Táridil's eyes extinguished, and he closed them. The steel sliced the air, and with a single stroke, Táridil's head fell to the ground in a pool of blood. His body followed, and the puddles of rain water turned a deep red.

The executioner turned away and let the stained sword fall from his hands. It landed on the ground with a dull thud. Quietly, he began to walk away, and Finhîr laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Strider..."

_You know nothing, Finhîr, _thought Strider. "I must be alone." His friend nodded and let him go.

Strider walked off into the quiet night, until he could see the peaks of the White Mountains, hazy and distant shapes that could barely be made out in the rain.

_Gondor, _he thought. _Minas Tirith. My people, my city, and yet a place I have never truly known. _

_How many more will suffer at my hand?_

So many had already. Emotionally, physically, he had caused pain as Estel, Strider, Aragorn...his name did not matter; his name was destruction. And his name may have been the reason Táridil's briber had wanted him dead. Curse his true identity. Could he not have remained Estel forever, fosterling of Rivendell? Why had fortune sought to reveal to him a name that rang hollow through the night?

Sometimes, with so many changing names, with so many lives, Strider wondered who he really was. Maybe his enemies knew better than him. Now, there seemed to be so many 'maybes'.

_My name is only a name. It doesn't matter...and who I am doesn't matter either. I am Strider now. A wildling, an exile, unknown to the civilized world. _

Strider let himself drop to the ground in an open field where a few trees grew, trees that later became more dense and led into a forest that began but some yards away. He leaned against one wet tree trunk and felt the rain beating down against his neck. It ran down his shoulders, turning the dirt beneath to mud that encrusted his boots. Was he crying? It was hard to tell. The raindrops were his tears, falling from the very heavens that had so sealed his fate, and each tear was a tear for lost hope. Was Strider becoming some sort of monster? It seemed so, for his friend had become his foe at the mere insinuation of coin. He brought only death.

_There is no hope. Estel...you knew nothing, Brannon Elrond, you did not know how much despair I would cause when you gave me that name. _

"Who am I?" His whisper was to no one and was lost in the roar of thunder and a flash of lightning. The sky was growing darker, and as the gray clouds began to complete devour it, he gave up asking, and let his mind wallow in uncertain despair of a man with no identity. If he did not know who he was, how could he lead others? They knew only the superficial cover of the warrior and Ranger. It seemed that this was his fate, his doom...to remain forever a nameless exile.

The past year had been so full of change. While the current year was still young, that which preceded it had been that in which he had been told who he was. The shards of Narsil, the taste of the name 'Aragorn' on his lips, it had all been so strange, and at that moment the burden of the past and future had laid itself upon the man then known as Estel's heart. And then, then, the fateful day that had torn that heart apart with the torment of love...

_flashback_

Estel looked over the fair flowers in the woods of Imladris, at times lightly brushing the dew from them with his fingertips as he pondered darker things. In his mind, he could still hear Elrond's voice, and could feel the touch of pieces of a broken sword blade.

_Aragorn, son of Arathorn? Is that who I am? Was Arathorn my father, the only heir of Numenor? _

It seemed so hard to believe...so impossible.

The world was quiet. Estel sat against a marble pillar, and let a song come forth from his lips—a lament, slow and beautiful and haunting. It was of a beautiful Elven maid, the fair Tinúviel, and he had heard it many times in the past.

At that moment a strange light seemed to come from the yonder shadows of the fair trees. Estel stood, the song dying and watched as it grew brighter, approaching...

And suddenly, there she stood.

An elf fairer than any his eyes had ever beheld stood there, with long, flowing dark hair and a circlet of silver and sapphire resting upon her brow. Her garb was a dress of pure white that flowed behind her regally. Her eyes were of glistening silver, her lips supple and red as rubies, and her complexion fair and pure,

Estel felt his heart catch, and his eyes went wide when he saw her. The image of Tinúviel had been so prominent in his mind...yet even in his wildest dreams he could not have conceived such beauty.

"Tinúviel?"

She turned at the sound of his voice, and her eyes came to rest upon him. Then she smiled. Estel could not help smiling back...that smile was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. In his mind he chided himself for sounding like such a simpleton. This was no Tinúviel; this was some other wonder that he had crossed paths with.

"You mistake me for another," she said in the Elven tongue, walking towards him. Her footsteps were so light against the ground that they made not even the slightest sound and blades of grass barely had to bend to accommodate her light steps. "I am not Tinúviel, of whom so many songs have been sung and tales told. She was great; while I must say that no such honor of greatness suits me. I am simply one of many."

Estel shook his head and replied to her in her own dialect. "You need not be Tinúviel...your beauty far surpasses that which she could have held, and of you will come much greater things."

The elf gave another shy smile, and came to a stop before him. She reached up and touched his rough cheek, her expression one of curiosity. "Who are you?" she asked in a voice that was little more than a whisper.

"Which side of me should I reveal?"

"Whichever is closest to your heart."

Estel found his eyes going downcast. "I am called Estel. I was fostered here since my childhood, by Lord Elrond. He has recently told me my true name." Why was he telling her these things? This beautiful creature was a complete stranger, but yet he felt as though he had known and loved her for years.

There was questioning in her eyes. "What name has he given you?"

"The name I was born with...I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor..." his voice trailed off and he sighed deeply.

She merely smiled at him. "Well, Aragorn, I name you Elfstone, for you speak the language of our kin and were so raised among us."

"I tell you both my names, then, and receive no such honor in return?"

The elf took a step back, and Estel looked upon her fully...if possible, she seemed more of an angel even than when he had first laid eyes on her. "I am Arwen, called Undómiel, the Evenstar of my people." Arwen's fingers went to a silver pendant that hung about her graceful white neck.

Estel stepped forward and took both her hands in his own. "Then, Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of Imladris, my names no longer hold meaning. I am forever yours and nothing more." Gently, he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them.

Arwen puts her arms about his neck. "And I am forever yours, Aragorn, the Elfstone."

And they kissed beneath the sunlit boughs, amidst blossoming flowers, and time and shadows seemed to fade...

_end flashback_

The memory ended, and Strider found himself again looking out at the rain. Remembering the most wonderful moment of his life had brought only more grief. He and Arwen could never be, for that could only result in death...and to bring about her death would be a sin he would never be able to forgive himself of. The tale of Beren and Lúthien was such. Naturally, that tale had ended in tragedy, and Strider knew that his life of sorrows would probably result in tragedy as well. Now he was forcing that misfortune on his beloved Arwen.

_I should have known that even love would bring me nothing but tears. I bring nothing to those I love but death. _

It was after pledging his love at Arwen that he had gone into the wild, become a ranger. An exile. He had learned great tracking skills, yet found himself growing no close bond to the others...not like he had had with the Elves at Rivendell. They would never truly be his brothers, not like Elladan and Elrohir had been. But he had needed to leave. His place was not among the Elves. But then where _was _his place? Was there anywhere that Aragorn, son of Arathorn, could truly belong?

_The heir to the throne of kings belongs only in Gondor. Among men, ruling the world of men, restoring it to the glory it once held. _

No. He did not want that power.

Strider stood then, for he heard the other men approaching. Yet it seemed that his heart remained where he had been before, sinking in the mud. His whole life was sinking. Had he ever even had a life, or was it all just an illusion?

_Yes. I did once. As a child, I lived. I lived in happy and blessed ignorance. But now I am no child...and I know not if I shall ever live again. _

As the other Rangers arrived, Strider nodded to them silently. Finhîr handed him his sword and he sheathed it. The blade had been washed clean by the showers of the sky. The Rangers began to go forth to the darkness of a nearby forest...and with a heavy heart, Strider led them.

Yet from afar, soundlessly hiding in the high branches of a tree, someone was watching. His bright eyes peered through the gloom. The mysterious stranger watched with keen sight as the Rangers made their way into the depths of the small woods, and ran his finger along the length of an arrow. His golden hair was damp from the rain and clung to his fair face, but it did not bother him. He pushed a lock behind one of his pointed ears.

And there, concealed in the darkness, the elf watched and waited with curiosity growing in his mind.

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**_Guth enín goth: _Death to the enemy**

_**Hope you enjoyed it! Please review! Many people will guess who the elf is. At least my wheezy will. **_


	2. Chapter 2: Threats in the Dark

_**Greetings again. This chapter somewhat shorter than the last, but hope you'll enjoy it all the same. **_

_**Disclaimer: The cream separator was invented in 1890. Cheers!**_

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Chapter 2: Threats in the Dark

The tracks were fresh. Strider's eyes passed over them, and he silently crept through the forest, while keeping his ears keen for any sounds that might give away the position of his prey. He could see the shape of its body through patches of late sunlight that shone down the tree boughs. The woods were not dense, and so small that even maps neglected to mention the area. Yet forest creatures dwelled within. And it was Strider's turn to hunt. Around him, small birds twittered and various rodents rustled about in the grass.

Since the day of Táridil's execution he had spent most of his time in silent thought. Try as he may, he could not get the memories of their good times out of his mind, and they haunted him in thoughts during the day and dreams during the night. The dead man followed him everywhere. Every time Strider drew his sword, he could see the body falling into a pool of its own life's blood. _I killed him. _

Táridil had tried to kill Strider, by coming to slit his throat in the mid of the night. When Strider had awoken and escaped this fate, Táridil had tried to strangle him. It could not have been avoided.

_Or could it have? _

The deer was an elusive quarry, but had stopped to graze. It was a good sized male with large antlers and a clean coat. The thought of shooting it made Strider sick; lately killing seemed to be the thing he was best at, which was a frightening thought.

Once Strider was in range, he fitted an arrow of grey fletching to the string of a light hunting bow he was carrying. The men could not go hungry. He took careful aim, and loosed the arrow.

It pierced the creature through the heart. Strider could not close his ears to its final, agonized moan, and watched as its legs buckled and it fell, with blood, bright in the sunlight, pouring forth from the arrow wound. He watched its final, labored breaths, and then a gust of wind passed and the deer was dead.

Strider knelt beside the dead animal and broke the arrow shaft in two. He hoisted the body onto his shoulders, with a grunt of effort, for the creature was heavy. His gaze lingered for a moment on the spot where blood had stained the forest floor. When would he stopthinking of such things?

As he began to walk away, Strider fleetingly thought that he saw some movement in the trees. His eyes darted upward. What had he seen? A flash of eyes looking upon him, limber movement and a glint of gold? But nothing was there.

_Nothing. These haunted days are playing tricks on my mind._

Shaking his head, Strider began to head towards the camp.

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The conversation amongst the Rangers as they supped on the venison thatevening was scarce. Tension hung in the air. Strider could feel eyes upon him as he kept hisown fixed on the meal before him, yet whenever he would look up the others would avert their stares. 

_It cannot continue like this. _

Indeed, it had been Finhîr who had insisted that Strider himself carry out the execution, yet now Strider seemed to be viewed as a cold-blooded murderer. And who could blame them? It was a reasonable thought. _Although it is at least a comfort that none of them will think to betray me. _All the same, now that his identity could possibly have been revealed, cautiousness was necessary.

There was a chill in the air that the warmth of the small fire did not reach. The flames caused shadows to dance about the camp, so that areas were briefly illuminated and red light glowed in all the silent eyes that watched from the interior of the forest. Eventually the discomfort was too great to bear. Finhîr was the first to excuse himself and retire for the night despite the fact that the sun was barely setting, and the rest followed, finding soft places on the ground to rest—wild folk carried no bedrolls or other such luxuries. Pretty soon Strider found himself alone.

Some are always alone in the world.

The western sky glowed with a golden hue, whilst above it the sky darkened to violet and then indigo, with stars starting to appear against night's dark blanket. Strider looked to the stars briefly as they shone down through the trees. Despite himself, he managed a small smile.

_Even here light can penetrate; maybe that will be true of other things. _

All the same, no matter if events turned or not, Strider knew in his heart that he could no longer remain with the Rangers of the North. He would only bring more danger to their already perilous lives. Already he had been with them for many, many months, and now it was time to seek good fortune elsewhere as a lone wanderer. Perhaps he wouldn't always be alone; Strider thought of Arwen and hoped that he would at least always have her love, even if she crossed the seas to the Undying Lands. But right now solitude was what he needed.

Strider stood and stamped out the fire, casting his surroundings into darkness, and a few of his companions stirred. He tried to move quietly through the dead leaves and other such things that were strewn about the ground.

And, after packing some dried fruit and strips of venison (also dry), with a glance back at where the Rangers slept, Strider left everything he knew and ventured out in uncertainty.

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The night was oddly quiet. The disturbance left Strider to think, and his thoughts were somewhat less desolate than they had been the night of Táridil's execution but still far from cheerful. In the deepening quiet his footsteps seemed loud and intruding. With a smile, he remembered Elladan and Elrohir, and how their footfalls had never made the slightest sound. Seeing as Strider was human, he had been a constant victim of sneak attacks and never been able to do the same in retribution. 

But now he got the unnerving feeling that he had sometimes felt when the twins had been lying in wait to bring some mischief upon him. It was a darker sensation, though, and Strider found himself quickening his pace.

_I am not alone. _

He heard a distinct rustle in the boughs above him, and looked in that direction but saw nothing, just as it had been during the hunt. As if an answer to his thoughts, a voice spoke from within the trees:

"I was hoping you would notice that."

Strider took a step back and looked at the area from where the voice was coming. A mysterious figure dropped gracefully from the tree, and landed soundlessly on the mossy ground.

The stranger then stood and Strider could see that he was of the Elven kindred. There was a strange light to him, besides more blatant characteristics such as the physical features, and it was so that he seemed untouched by such pending shadows as there were in the forest while night closed in.

"You were following me," Strider said as the two surveyed one another thoughtfully. He felt strangely inferior, and made direct eye contact with the elf, never breaking the stare.

The elf did not look away either, nor was he hesitant in answering.

"Yes."

Strider could feel mistrust growing in his heart. The elf was making no move for a weapon or anything, but he had seen with what lightning speed the race could draw, and tried to discreetly move his hand down towards the hilt of his sword. "Why? Are you here to aid or attack me?"

The stranger's eyes moved down to where the sword lay upon Strider's belt, and the Ranger realized that he had not been as discreet as he had hoped. "Aid, I suppose."

An uncomfortable silence followed. Strider found himself unsure of what to say, and after hesitating somewhat voiced the question that so plagued his mind.

"Who are you?

He watched the elf's eyes carefully and saw that the expression therein remained neutral but still shrouded in mystery.

"I would ask you the same question, but I know one such as yourself would most likely answer untruthfully, am I correct?" the elf replied. Strider felt a flare of indignation, partially at the somewhat rude and dismissive comment, and partially at the truth it held. The elf continued, and stood tall as he introduced himself. "I am called Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil the Elvenking of far Mirkwood, and know this: I hold no great love for the race of Men. Yet I know that once my people leave these shores the charge of Middle-Earth will come to them—and the charge of men will come to Isildur's heir of the Dúnedain."

_He knows who I am. _

Whatever this Elven prince wanted, Strider did not desire any part in it. "I cannot help you," he said curtly. He looked away and made a move to leave. Legolas did not attempt to follow him but instead continued to speak.

"I do not need your help. But you do need mine, and I am as reluctant to give it as you are to have it, but I do not wish to leave this land in ruin when I go forth across the seas, therefore I must." Legolas searched for Strider's eyes, and eventually their gazes met again. "What is your name?"

The Ranger chose his words carefully. "I am called Strider by those who know my appearance, and Estel by those who know my heart, and Elfstone by the one to whom my heart belongs."

Legolas nodded. "Well spoken. But truly you are none of them; you are Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Men. Try to think of yourself in that regard henceforth."

Strider—no, Aragorn—sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. "How did the find me?"

Legolas' face finally showed some emotion as he gave a mischievous smile. "I have connections to the sons of Elrond in Imladris."

"I give up," Aragorn said, knowing he could hide nothing. "What is it that you want?"

"Only to give you a warning...and protect you if I must. You are not safe, Aragorn. A dark member of my kindred seeks your blood. You did not notice me in all those hours I followed you? Nor will you notice he who is trying to kill you. You cannot die, for then the hope of Middle-Earth will die...and believe me, if you continue to insist on your misery and solitude...you will dead before the next full moon has risen."

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_**The end of Chapter 2!**_


	3. Chapter 3: Lost to the World

**_I here present Chapter 3 to the fanfiction community. In this chapter, the relationship is still tense between Aragorn and Legolas as they set out together in a unsure journey…_**

_**Disclaimer: I don't even own the laptop I'm typing this on. Nor do I own LOTR.**_

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Chapter 3- Lost to the World

Moments of tension followed. Aragorn could see in Legolas' eyes that the elf was dead serious, and felt something that he had seldom felt before…fear.

"A dark elf?" Aragorn asked, incredulous. In a race so fair was there such a thing?

Legolas' face was downcast as he nodded silently.

"So what am I to do?"

"You need protection," the elf answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I can protect myself."

At that, Legolas barked out a laugh, and Aragorn was taken aback. _Elves and their air of superiority, _he thought with a grimace. Legolas looked at him haughtily and spoke again.

"One shot. One shot, at any given point in time during my vigil, and I could have had you dead without you realizing that you had been hit." The elf leaned against a tree and looked at the mortal cockily, and Aragorn knew that it was true. The Elves were so silent and skilled; how could he protect himself? Even with constant vigilance it would be impossible. The thought of having an elf for a foe had never occurred to Aragorn before; there had seldom been instances of dark elves, who had been corrupted by greed in their own hearts…for Elven hearts were so pure that avarice was simply foreign to them. This elf, Legolas, did not seem particularly friendly, and had already made it clear that Men were not dear to him in the least, but he did seem willing to help.

Aragorn took a few steps closer. "My only question is," he said. "Why do _you _want to help me, besides the reason you said at the beginning. I can see in your expression that there is more. Who is this elf?"

Legolas sighed and looked at Aragorn, and the Ranger was startled to see sorrow in those silver eyes. "There is more. Partially my own guilt for letting this member of my kin become what he is. Consider it the payment of old debts that I will never pay in full…I owed it to Caleil to be a better brother, and now he is gone."

Then there was silence. Aragorn let the elf's words sink in, and abruptly Legolas turned to walk away. "I ask you to consider the warning I have given you. If you wish for me to help you, tell me as much when I return." He started to recede into the darkness.

"When will you return?" Aragorn called after him.

"Soon." And Legolas was gone.

Aragorn sat against the ground, his back against a tree trunk, and thought. Little could be seen in the dark of the night. He did need someone. He needed someone to talk to, to keep him sane, a companion…

_But never a friend. Friendship is only a lie. _

Perhaps he could stand traveling with this stiff and mysterious prince, if only to stay out of harm's way. _I feel like a coward. _But he could not lie and say that he did not need protection from this foe.

_But if I should be attacked…would it turn brother against brother? _

More guilt began to burden Aragorn's heart and he silently wished for the days when he had not known of the trials of the world beyond the borders of Imladris.

* * *

_Why am I doing this? _

Legolas kept telling himself that it was for the good of Middle-Earth, to see an end to Caleil's heartless murders, but knew in his own heart that his intentions were otherwise. He did wish to see his brother again. Legolas and Caleil had been close in childhood, and Legolas thought that maybe if they were together again he would be able to return things to the way they had been. Legolas himself and a few trusted friends were the only ones who truly knew about Caleil. His father had been told that his elder son had been slain in battle, and the body never recovered, for to hear of the monstrosity Caleil had become would grieve Thranduil's heart more than the news of death. Legolas had quietly attended the memorial for his living brother…yet felt that in a way Caleil _was _dead.

Elladan and Elrohir had been cheered by Legolas' tidings that he was going to seek out 'Estel.' Obviously, the twins held much love for their mortal brother. As to why, Legolas could only guess. Perhaps the man had been more amiable in younger years. Now, all that Legolas had perceived was a brooding, unsure and serious character that would most likely never become his friend. Not that Legolas desired a mortal friend. He did not trust Men, for they were traitorous and hard of heart, turncloaks at insinuation of coin…to create a bond of friendship with one would be folly.

Caleil's last words to him rang in Legolas' mind. _You don't know me anymore, brother. I am lost to the world._

He had not planned on leaving the human to make a decision, but had felt uncomfortable and therefore needed some time alone. If Aragorn should indeed accept his offer for protection…Legolas did not look forward to it. At least it would be a relief to walk. Elves were at home in trees, possibly more so than on ground, but he had done nothing but move from tree to tree for days and it had grown tiresome.

As Legolas continued to walk with footsteps that were soundless and light, he thought he heard voices whispering amongst the trees, like restless spirits issuing a warning of ill events yet to come.

* * *

Aragorn had made the decision to accept the elf's offer to travel with him, though he did not anticipate it joyfully. He did, however, continue about the way he had been going before the meeting, for he still wanted to get as far away from the Rangers as possible and leave this forsaken forest. 

The problem was of where to turn after leaving the forest. He could scarcely recall the location, and had forgotten to bring a map with him (for that Aragorn had several times cursed his foolishness). What lands would welcome one such as him? Aragorn supposed he might go to the village of Bree, which he had visited in the past. He was fond of the drink there. At least it was a destination, and at the inn of the Prancing Pony Aragorn was sure to find accommodations at least until he thought of another course to take. If Legolas returned, the elf could journey with him that far, and then they could separate and Aragorn could once again have the solitude he was drawn to.

The part of Aragorn's heart that was still Estel longed to return to Rivendell…but after leaving, how could he go crawling back like a lost sheep? The part of him that was Strider wanted to continue venturing in the wild, to see what other things it had in store, but that was folly—to be a wanderer in lands where there existed those who sought his blood was to ask for death.

The border was within sight. Aragorn took one last look into the heart of the small forest, where trees grew but not too densely, and where somewhere the elf Legolas lurked and probably watched.

Then he turned and exited the forest, which opened to a valley that stretched for miles, and Aragorn looked at white-peaked mountains in the distance as he walked out under the exposing moonlight.

* * *

After only a few hours in the valley, walking towards his distant destination with no place to go to for cover, Aragorn heard someone call his name…one of his names. The name spoken was Estel. He turned, and saw Legolas standing some yards behind him, his eyes glistening in the moonlight. 

"I've come to ask if you've made your decision."

Aragorn nodded. "I accept."

Aragorn could see a mixture of relief, resentment, and confusion in Legolas' expression. The elf walked over and stood by him, waiting as Aragorn gathered the things he had taken out while taking a short rest.

"Where do you purpose to go?" asked Legolas in a neutral tone.

"Bree."

The elf raised an eyebrow, but did not question why. "I only hope the road there is a safe one."

Aragorn sighed and looked at the pale, staring moon. "No road is a safe one in these dark times." And without further unnecessary conversation, the two remained reserved and set out on their journey.

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_**Hope everyone will review again and that you liked the chapter. Namarie for now!**_


	4. Chapter 4: Not Meant for Fate

**_Hello to the world, today is happy, because it was warm and sunny. To anyone whose day was not warm and sunny, never give up hope and remember to pay the electric bill. And to end this sunny day, here is Chapter 4. _**

**_Disclaimer: LOTR: J.R.R. Tolkien. Tinsel in hair: Fun in the sun. _**

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Chapter 4: Not Meant for Fate

The forest had lain a few miles east of the Misty Mountains, near the town of Rhosgobel, and not all that far from the borders of Mirkwood from whence Legolas had come. The road to Bree was not the easiest. The realm of Eriador could be accessed from their position by fairly safe and plain mountain paths, but these days all such roads were perilous. Yet to reach their destination it was necessary to go in that direction. It was within that realm that the small village laid, along with the far land of the Halflings that yet remained unknown to either traveler-- although it would become a significant part of both their futures.

At the present moment, Legolas and Aragorn had been traveling for a day, stopping for rests at night. They had still remained distant and made little conversation. When the two were together, whether they were eating or resting or walking, there seemed to be an underlying tension that caused a rift which neither wished to cross. The situation was also the offspring of their own inner troubles. Aragorn remained enclosed in his own thoughts, with so many memories and insecure feelings blending within his mind so that he felt isolated and bitter, even with Legolas' company. The elf's behavior left as much to be desired. He bore no particular love towards men, as he had said before, for it was interaction with the race that had hardened Caleil, and his father the Elvenking had always taught his sons to not be quick to trust. Therefore Legolas remained reserved as well. He rather thought of his brother and let his actions be dictated by those thoughts. They were of misery, so he was stiff and mysterious; Legolas was changing and even the greatest of his friends could not have stopped the progression.

A mountain road lay ahead. It was a dirt path, surrounded by trees at its starting point in the valley, and then sloped gently upward into the rocky formations that marked the eastern beginnings of long chain of the Misty Mountains. It was noon of second day of Aragorn and Legolas' travels when the road came into sight.

"That path must lead over the mountains," said Aragorn.

Legolas was walking a little ways in front of his companion, and only glanced back when he answered. "I see no other road to take."

Aragorn did not say anything in reply. He rather continued in silence, and so it remained that way as it had been nearly the entire morning.

_Companionship now seems no better than solace, _he thought to himself with a sigh, remembering lost days when he had never been alone.

* * *

The two were well onto the path by the time the first hours of afternoon arrived. It was early autumn, so that leaves high in tree boughs were just beginning to take their red and golden hues, and the weather was mild whilst the temperature was warm. Yet the Misty Mountains had a different feel to them. Only small trees grew, and though the base of the mountains held the same aura of the autumnal world so near to it, the slight chill in the air would slowly increase as the companions ascended. The high peaks and summits were usually touched with light snow at this time of year—even as the rest of the world was barely coming out of summer's warmth. 

That was how it occurred. As sunset approached many hours later, Aragorn could feel slight cold beginning to seep through his light, torn clothing, and the winds began to blow a little harder. This particular road did not go to the summit but rather led over a lower point in the mountains...the Ranger did not know if he would have been able to go to the higher reaches in such garments as he was now attired. The elf felt no extremities, Aragorn knew, and he was slightly resentful of that fact.

Legolas did not forget that his friend was merely human. The sun was stretching forth hues of purple, blue, gold, pink, and red, in a magnificent sunset that they could fully witness and enjoy, and the elf stopped and turned to the man who walked behind him.

"Do you desire a warmer shelter?"

_I will not appear weak; I have slept in the cold before. I sought out the wild once and would not shy from its natural changes. _"I am fine. The air is tinged with cold; nothing more. We should be fine."

Legolas had stopped walking and now turned to the east, where night's dark blanket was starting to stretch forth and distant stars were beginning to shine like minute diamonds. "It would please me to spend a night in the open, beneath the stars." His tone was touched with hidden sorrow.

Aragorn did not know what to say, therefore said nothing for some moments. He looked at what lay before them. The path was growing wider, and there were clearings up ahead large enough in which to set a camp.

"We can find a spot to rest for the night in a clearing up ahead," the Ranger finally said. He chose words carefully now, for he knew that elves did not "sleep" as men did. Legolas would rest his mind with his eyes open and gazing upwards, his slender hands folded gently over his breast.

Legolas merely nodded, and then slowly turned away from where his gaze lingered on the world in the distance; with regret it seemed. Aragorn waited until the elf had started walking again to continue himself.

As they were reaching the open area, however, Legolas stopped again, yet this time his shoulders were tense and he stopped rather abruptly. The elf reached out a hand and stopped Aragorn from going any further.

"Stop," said Legolas quietly. "Something is amiss. The air is foul here."

Aragorn looked about, and saw nothing, but at those dark words he realized that he, too, sensed something. The elves of Mirkwood were the best trackers in all of Arda. It was by that fact that Aragorn knew how keen Legolas' abilities must be when it came to those skills.

Legolas began to go forward slowly. He made no sound, and Aragorn himself felt quite loud and clumsy while watching with what grace the elf moved. Light was waning, they would have to find whatever they were looking for quickly...

Suddenly, Legolas stopped, and he knelt down, running his fingers lightly over the loose soil on the ground that collected around the crevices of rocks; then motioned to Aragorn.

The Ranger walked over and knelt beside his companion, and examined the area that Legolas was indicating.

"See this?" said Legolas.

"Orc tracks. Hastily covered."

Legolas nodded, as though surprised that the human had come to the same realization as he so quickly. Both turned and looked around at the area surrounding them. Immediately, Legolas spotted some more areas where tracks had been brushed over, and he and Aragorn went over to investigate. After confirming their suspicions they began to follow the barely-noticeable outlines of footsteps that only trackers would have been able to find. The twilight was now coming on; the sky was a dusty purple dotted with many stars, yet their light was not that of the sun and the tracks in the dirt seemed to fade. Pretty soon even Aragorn could not make them out. Rather he followed Legolas, whose keen sight penetrated the oncoming darkness.

Their ventures let them to an outcropping of rock, which was hollow, for a great cavern-mouth had formed in the front. The air still reeked of the Orcs. Legolas scowled at the odor, and with obvious strong distaste for anything related to the servants of Sauron.

_At least there we agree, _thought Aragorn.

As they wandered in, the stone walls cast even more shadows, yet did not hide obvious signs of Orc presence. There were ashes strewn about the ground where fires had been extinguished. Burnt-out pieces of wood that were hardly more than sticks were with them. The dirt had shifted in areas where the creatures had rested, and there were various bits of filth lying here and there. One had even been so foolhardy as to forget its dagger. The crude weapon lay in a corner, the dark steel of its jagged blade half-concealed in the ground, and there was no light or shine to the metal.

Aragorn walked over and lifted the dagger. "This could be useful," he said.

Legolas seemed appalled as he turned to the man. "You would _use _something of theirs? Something created in the dark depths of Mordor, where your enemy dwells and reigns?"

"I could shove it up one of their throats," replied the Ranger with a shrug. "It should be effective. The blade is sharp."

Legolas shook his head. "At times your race disgusts me."

There were a million retorts that Aragorn could have said to that, but he held them back with an amused smirk as he inserted the weapon into a leather pouch that hung at his waist. He imagined the elf did not think highly of Ranger customs...and probably not their hygiene either.

After spending a few more moments examining the area, the two came together to discuss it. Around them gloom was growing more imminent.

"We have discovered something important," said Legolas. There was a strange tone to his voice, and as he spoke his eyes did not seem to focus on Aragorn but rather in every place at once, as though with a glimpse the elf could see into far worlds concealed from the eyes of others. "We have found evidence of orc activity well outside of the borders of the Land of Shadow. Such is growing more common, but as far as I have been informed they have not been found in this place before. From what I gather, a large host was here, and we found the remnants of their tracks outside. Something must be done. Someone must be told."

"Who are we to tell?" asked Aragorn, wrapping his hand around the hilt of his recently obtained orc-dagger.

Legolas turned, and looked at the night that had fully fallen beyond the cave entrance. Thoughts were forming in his mind. Then, he looked back at Aragorn.

"On the morrow, we head for Imladris, and the Last Homely House."

Aragorn merely nodded, and walked away, giving the pretense of indifference as he went about regular activities, but there was joy in his heart at the thought of once again seeing Rivendell, of seeing the twins, and Elrond...

And Arwen.

So, that night, Aragorn rested in peace with dreams of better times in his mind, and his emotions went back to the moment when he had first gazed upon the angel of his heart. He fell asleep beneath the protective warmth of a firelight. And, for the first time in so long, Aragorn felt whole...just by the thought of his loved ones, by the thought of those moments yet to come.

For the heir of Isildur would never truly want anything more than what life had already given him.

* * *

The journey to Rivendell took many long days, and Legolas and Aragorn traveled nearly tirelessly over the mountain pass until it leveled with the ground and became open land once more. It rained all through the first day, as well as on many days that followed, and the dirt in which the companions tread turned to mud. Aragorn was irritated by the fact that his boots sank in the mud while Legolas' light shoes made scarcely a mark. 

Legolas was able to ignore the wetness and the terrible conditions, for they were near to nothing for him. The elf rather concentrated on other things as he made his way to the hidden land of his kinsmen...for his heart was troubled.

A warning was increasing in Legolas' mind, subtle, but lingering obstinately, and he could not help wondering if he was making good decisions. Of what was he so wary? Every night, he remained on constant vigilance for unfriendly eyes, protecting a man that he slightly knew and, in truth, cared little for—this Aragorn was too withdrawn and cold. _Though I suppose I am not much better at the moment. _

_We simply were not meant for friendship. If that is what fate had in mind...we were not meant for it._

Seeing as his thoughts were starting to drift back to the Ranger, Legolas closed his mind, and continued walking through the rain, hearing no sound but that of heaven's tears...

As usual, Legolas Greenleaf had thought that his last notion of his relationship to Aragorn was correct and would not change. He had a good reason to think so. The prince of Mirkwood was almost always right, for he had a cunning mind and a heart that was good at assessing those around him. But no one can be right in every aspect. This was the one of the few things Legolas would be proven to be wrong about over the course of his journeys with Aragorn, and over his life, his eternity, for the fate written in the stars would soon reveal the dawn of a new and completely unexpected friendship...one that would change Legolas and his views forever. Such would be discovered through memories of the past, events of the present...and questions of the uncertain future that would be asked as the two companions traveled this weary road together.

* * *

**_End Chapter 4! What lies ahead for Aragorn and Legolas? Bwaha...no, Legolas, it does not involve cheese or mushrooms or munchy bunkins. That's what you would find behind the scenes. Along with paranoid lemonade, more commonly known as a lemonoid, which somehow refers to us. WTC? _**

**_I was thrilled to receive more reviews than usual for this chapter. Hopefully it will continue that way; like that Shania Twain song, it can only go up from here! (Unless I write a chapter that totally sucks. I'll try not to.) As I think I've conveyed to everyone, thank you, thank you, thank you for reading and reviewing, it would be great if everyone keeps it up; it helps me improve my writing a great deal. Whoa, those are pretty long review replies. If they are getting too long let me know._**

_**Chapter 5 coming soon! Please give your input on Chapter 4!**_


	5. Chapter 5: Worth Fighting For

_**¡Hola! This is Chapter 5, and I worked really hard on it, it's probably my favorite one so far, so it should be satisfactory. This chapter is longer!**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR, I think that this is already a well-established fact, and if I said I did all Tolkien fans would throw rotten tomatoes at me. No Irish Anor, no. **_

* * *

Chapter 5: Worth Fighting For

Many in the world have traveled to distant places, and experienced thrill and adventure therein; experiences that some do not wish to ever let go of. Due to the feeling of confinement home is a place that some people wish to leave and never see again. However, for the majority of those adventurers among us, the place they call home is the place where they have their fondest memories, and when gazing upon it after a long period of absence, the child within one is often awakened by the joy of reminiscing over times when the world was innocent. In fact, a person may be one person at home and a completely different person away from home...but it is usually the first which holds more inner beauty.

Such would be revealed shortly. As Aragorn son of Arathorn trod along familiar roads, a sense of longing was awoken in his heart, and his weary feet gained new strength at the thought of the dwelling place of his youth. He forgot the tension that existed between him and the elf that walked quietly at his side. He even forgot the terrible mental anguish he had gone through over the past few months, the feeling of a lost identity, the sorrow of betrayal, and the solitary wanderings with a companion as hard as stone.

_Here, I am not nameless, and I am not rejected. In the fair land of Rivendell I know who I am. I am Estel, no more and no less, with no unreasonable expectations or grievous doubts. _

The last time Aragorn had been in Imladris, he had felt lost and isolated because of the discovery that he was not who he thought he was, a feeling made more desolate by his impossible love for Arwen. Yet now, _now_, he realized the truth in historical words that told of absence making the heart grow fonder. And so, Aragorn's spirits were lifted, as the most tedious part of his journey with Legolas thus far came to an end.

Rivendell was a valley hidden by something that mortals would never understand. It could not be seen by any eyes at a distance, save by those of the ones who dwelled there. It seemed rather to open up beneath one's very feet when they came to its border. But Aragorn knew its location well. When he saw it before his eyes, it was like a calling to long-forgotten hope.

The sun was just rising. Aragorn had insisted on walking throughout most of the night, and Legolas had not objected, and so they were arriving at the break of dawn. Rivendell was cast in a heavenly glow. Flashes of gold were illuminated off its waterfalls, some distant, some near, for the area was as vast as it was beautiful. The Elven décor and style of the white buildings stood out and gleamed as light touched them. Vegetation grew all around, flowers and flowing plants, and at areas where smaller waterfalls emptied into ponds, soft pink water lilies dotted the surface.

Aragorn and Legolas descended into the valley. Trees with leaves that glistened in the morning dew grew on the sides of the paths, and there could be heard voices laughing and singing within so that it was as though the trees themselves possessed active life that spoke and whispered. Aragorn saw that Legolas would occasionally look up into those trees and smile or even wave to the Elves that were hidden from mortal eyes. _He has been here before. _

When they approached a bridge that crossed over the length of a stream, Aragorn saw Elves out in the open, their flowing garb fair of color and ordained at times with linings of gold, and their hair dark as was characteristic of the Elves of Imladris so that it contrasted with the lightness of their skin. Legolas stood out among them, for his look was that of the sylvan Elves, but at the same time held that same air of purity and perfection. These were his people. And, as Aragorn looked around, he knew that they were not his people...but they _were _his family, and this was the only home he had ever known.

The Elves of Imladris knew Aragorn well, and those in the open greeted him with enthusiasm and teased him as they normally did. He was surprised to see how many knew Legolas as well.

Yet at one point, Legolas stopped walking altogether, and peered into a nearby tree, a wide grin spreading across his face. Aragorn followed the elf's gaze but could see nothing save the tree's upper branches with their leaves cast in early light. Then an all too familiar voice came from the boughs, along with joyous laughter on the part of another.

"Valar, Estel, you would think that after so much time here you would have been able to see us!"

The smile then spread to Aragorn as well, and Legolas gave the ranger a side-look; there was wonder in the elf's eyes, for he had never once in their travels thus far seen his companion smile.

Elladan and Elrohir leapt nimbly down from where they were concealed. Immediately, Aragorn ran to them, and the three shared a fierce embrace, while joking and laughing and smiling over the joy of being reunited after such a long time apart. The sons of Elrond loved their foster brother as one of their blood.

Legolas stood slightly apart, coming closer gradually while thoughts ran through his mind. Where was the man he had seen only moments before? The man who was so stiff, depressed at times, and reserved to his own melancholy thoughts? As he looked upon Aragorn now as the man spoke joyously to Elladan and Elrohir in the tongue of the Elves, all that came to him was confusion. _He is their brother, more than I ever could have thought possible. He even speaks our tongue; he never spoke it to me. _The smile on Aragorn's face was that of contentment and happiness which was truly sincere. Legolas had traveled with the man under the gaze of many moons and never seen even a glimpse of it before.

_Perhaps there is more here than I thought. _

Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel, three brothers, were together now, and had their arms about one another as the twins walked over to greet Legolas. Aragorn merely stood aside smiling as they did so. Legolas found himself smiling and laughing as well. The sons of Elrond had been good friends of his in their youth. The words they had spoken before Legolas' previous departure from Imladris still echoed in Legolas' mind:

_Take care of him, Legolas. He is akin to us as much as we are to one another. _

Legolas could not help feeling that he had not upheld that oath. He had been more centered on his own problems, on Caleil, his own brother, and thoughts of their relationship still pained his heart as he saw the bond of love that existed in the family tie before him. _If I had upheld it, I would have been able to break past the mysterious Strider and bring out Estel. _

Yet, even now, as the four crossed over the bridge and made their way to the Last Homely House, Aragorn stood at one end and Legolas at the other with the twins between them. There still existed a barrier that neither would cross, for fear of being drawn into something bigger than themselves and the lives they knew, and of through that falling into a precipice of even more fallacies and despair than now existed in their lives.

* * *

Aragorn's relationship with Elrond had somewhat waned due to the fact that the man had fallen in love with Arwen, and so now as they saw one another again, Elrond greeted his foster son well but with no unnecessary excitement. Aragorn did not mind. He wanted only to get this over with, and to wander the depths of Rivendell until he should again come upon Arwen Undómiel, who could light his darkness greater than the brightest star. At the present, Elrond sat at the far end of a carven table of oak, and his sons sat to one side of his whilst Aragorn and Legolas took their places stiffly on the opposite side. There was a brief wait in which Elrond called for refreshments to be brought for the two travelers. Then, the lord of Imladris turned to them, expectantly waiting for them to voice their reason for turning their sights to Rivendell. When the two said nothing, he attempted at conversation. 

"Well," said Elrond casually. "It surprises me that the two of you should have your paths cross. Here, I have not seen Estel—Aragorn—for such a long time, and he returns with the prince of Mirkwood as his companion. Forgive me for my curiosity."

Legolas saw Aragorn opening his mouth to speak, and quickly spoke before the ranger could. "I met Aragorn while in the Misty Mountains on my way back to Mirkwood from some brief travels, Brannon Elrond. It was nightfall and he was resting near to a cave, and I spoke to him; we both sensed that something was wrong and entered the cavern, where we found things that may interest you."

Aragorn did not bother to ask why Legolas had not spoken truthfully of their encounter, or why the twins kept quiet, for they obviously knew as well since it was them who had given Legolas information, but decided that it must be for the best. He did not bother to look at Legolas while withdrawing the orc-dagger from its sheath.

"We found this," said the ranger. "Along with a multitude of tracks, not particularly fresh but still readable. It is something we feared: Sauron's forces are active far from Mordor, to much more of an extent than we ever thought possible. Therefore Legolas and I decided to bring this ill news to you here in Rivendell, for it was not far from the mountain path we were on and the tidings would be better handled by you or by some other authority than by us."

Elrond gave his foster son a strange look. "I had heard that you were traveling with a band of those wildling Rangers up north. Why then, were you alone, wandering in the Misty Mountains?"

"My dealings with the Rangers were over," said Aragorn quietly, and a shadow grew over his eyes as he turned his gaze down towards the table.

Elrond did not continue questioning Aragorn. Rather he sat in silence, pondering the situation set before him.

"Do you know where these Orcs headed?"

"The paths were difficult to read as it were, and we rested at the coming of night," said Legolas. "They seemed to be heading westward but eventually the tracks became too faint even for my eyes to decode. Yet as we continued in that direction, their putrid stench still stained the air and defiled it; I know not where they eventually ended up or where the creatures are now."

The silence that followed stretched on. Elrond looked out an open window at the far end of the room, through which the sunlight streamed, though its fairness seemed obstructed by the underlying tensions of dark things that tainted even the earth itself.

"Thank you," he finally said, his voice low. "I will take these things into consideration and alert the one who truly needs to know."

Aragorn looked up at Elrond. "And who would that be?"

"One who, hopefully, you will have the fate to someday meet, and who in my belief will have a part of great importance in the salvation of this world from Sauron's darkness. But this is beyond my power and beyond yours as well." Elrond's gaze had lingered on the window, and now he turned it back to those before him. "For now, enjoy the comforts of Rivendell for as long as you remain. Do you purpose to leave again, Aragorn?"

"I most likely will. As much as I am loath to leave I cannot help feeling at times that my place is elsewhere, despite the fact that this is still the place I call home."

Elrond nodded sagely and dismissed them. The twins and Legolas exited the room first, but Elrond detained Aragorn for a moment, and in his eyes there was a strange emotion that was a mixture of anger and love.

"I have raised you as a son, and would not send you away," said Elrond, his voice a strange cross of tenderness and bitterness. "But I do have one demand. However long you stay here, Aragorn son of Arathorn, I want you to stay away from my daughter. Should her love for you grow...it can only lead to destruction. And I _will not have it._ I do care for you, as you know, but she is my blood and the Evenstar of her people. I would denounce you in an instant if you were to threaten her safety, and by giving her your love you have, in a way, already done so." Over the course of the speech Elrond's look had leaned increasingly towards bitterness until it had completely eaten away at what tender, fatherly love had once existed there.

Aragorn did not know how to respond. He merely gave Elrond a dark look and pulled his arm free from the elf's hold with a jerk of the shoulder. Then, the ranger turned and left, blinking as he stepped out into the sunlight.

"Estel."

Aragorn saw Elrohir standing to his right, sitting and leaning against a tree trunk lazily.

"Where did Elladan go?" Aragorn asked as he began to walk over to his Elven brother.

"He and Legolas ventured off somewhere, but I had to wait for you."

Aragorn looked at Elrohir curiously. "And why is that?"

Elrohir stood, his silver eyes glittering mischievously as he stepped closer and motioned to Aragorn to continue walking down the path. "I bear a message for you. Someone entrusted me with it."

Aragorn felt an odd sensation stirring within his heart, for he felt that he knew from whom the message had come, and Elrond's words echoed in his mind. When he did not question what it was, Elrohir stepped before him and looked him in the eye.

"She says to meet her tonight, in the place where you swore your love to her."

Aragorn remained silent. He hardly heard as Elrohir continued speaking, joking about love among other things, for most words that escaped the mouths of the twins were in jest, although they might cover serious issues (in fact, in their minds, those were the ones that most needed to be made fun of). Eventually the elf realized that his mortal brother was saying nothing.

"Estel, what is troubling you?"

Aragorn looked up and gave a small smile tinged with sadness, putting his hand lightly on Elrohir's shoulder. "It is nothing.Tell her that I will be there."

* * *

The rest of the day passed without incident, and Legolas and Aragorn mostly stayed apart from one another as they were swept away in the blissful atmosphere of Imladris, sharing in festivities and reminiscing over past times with the elves, joining in laughter and song. Yet even amidst all of this both had troubles brooding in the corner of their minds. 

Aragorn's nighttime meeting with Arwen drew ever nearer. Elrond had said that he would not send his foster-son away, but if they were caught Aragorn did not doubt it. However, he could not help being excited. Over the past few months much of his thoughts had centered on his love...he was overjoyed by the mere thought of seeing her. Men, despite their bravado, needed love as much if not more than their female counterparts, and as Aragorn floundered in uncertainty over who and what he was, he needed Arwen more than anything. The only thing that hindered that joy was the remembrance that their love could bring only loss and darkness.

Legolas, on the other hand, could not pinpoint his troubles, but the unrest had been mounting within him since he first felt it when deciding to go to Rivendell. Something was coming. At times he thought he heard whispers on the breath of the wind, sending hidden warnings, or bearing the messages of dark memories that he had hardly remembered. Legolas tried to tell himself that all elves felt such things during foul times, and that here he was safe from the shadow of Mordor...but his vow to protect Aragorn kept coming to mind, and a strange feeling that he was not the only sylvan elf within the borders of Rivendell. At first he thought perhaps that it may mean that Caleil was here, which brought an automatic feeling of terror and at the same time longing upon his heart, but that was folly—for no place was so sheltered as this and the elves within knew of Caleil's wickedness. They would never have allowed the fallen elf to pass into their realm. So Legolas tried to let these thoughts pass out of his mind, and he did enjoy himself, but could never truly rid himself of the feeling.

Then night came.

Night, bringer of shadows and darkness, extinguisher of the sun's gentle rays, the time in which evil things passed and conquered...the black blanket that would someday cover the world at its end. What good comes of night, save the light of the distant moon and stars that serve as a reminder of fading hope? Little good. For Estel that night, there would be the moon and stars, yet for Legolas Greenleaf, there would be only the darkness that stretched beneath them, kindled with fires of long ago that should have then died out...

* * *

The grass that grew upon the ground in the woods of Rivendell parted at the feel of lightly falling footsteps, bare and cold, which walked on it with eager anticipation until they reached the bridge. The starry night cast upon the place a glow that only such can give, so that things seemed to be in only hues of white and fair blue, so that it bore an appearance like to that of the golden woods of Lothlórien come nightfall. Flowers swayed gently and petals of white fell to the ground. A brook passed nearby, and an elaborately carved bridge over it, with tree boughs forming a shelter of blossoms and leaves above, and it was there that a maid awaited. 

Her dress was white again, the same as it had been so very long ago when she had walked through these very woods, and seemed to glow in the night as a tender smile played at her lips. Her skin was smooth and fair beneath it. The hair that fell about her white shoulders seemed darker than usual because of the late hour, so that in all she looked as lovely as a goddess of distant worlds while dancing patterns of the water passing beneath reflected onto her body.

Her lover came then, with mixed feelings in his heavy heart, dressed in a tunic customarily used for sleep among his kind. She waited for him patiently. Then, once they were standing face to face, no words needed to be said as they shared moonlit passion, and the heavens sang a beautiful lament for love so strong yet so unconceivable while they kissed and spoke in gentle whispers.

Finally, after speaking of memories they shared of former times together, Arwen opened Aragorn's hand and faced his palm upward. Her own hand went first to her neck and then returned to his. Aragorn then felt the touch of silver, still warm from her body, and looked down to see the Evenstar pendant in his grasp.

"You cannot give me this," he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers. It was a promise, he knew, a promise of eternal love on her part, which he shared and desired but would bring dire consequences. Did she not know this?

She knew. It was evident in her eyes. Yet, Arwen did not mind, for in her heart she knew that she could not live life without love...and this man was the one she would stand beside for all eternity.

"It is mine to give to whom I will," she said. "As is my heart."

"Arwen..."

She silenced him by putting a gentle hand about his neck, and Aragorn trembled at the touch as she drew him in and he felt her lips against his once more.

And then the heir of Isildur was taken away to a different world of love and companionship, for it was here, in the arms of the one he loved most in the world, that he was truly at home...

* * *

Despite the beauty that the occurrences within the heart of the woods held, there were dark things lingering in its borders, like a half-moon in which one part shines brightly in there night whilst the other is concealed in shadows that can only pass with its turning. 

For it was there that an unlikely figure stood. Legolas had drawn a cloak about his shoulders, and felt his heart pounding in his chest. He had seen Aragorn slipping off this way, and at the sight the warning in his mind had returned with full force that could not be ignored. The drive had led the prince of Mirkwood to the border of the woods.

And Legolas knew, as shadows fell upon him, that he was not alone.

The presence of another was strong. He could feel it right before him, yet at this hour, in this place, it was not one of the elves of Rivendell. It was not Aragorn or Arwen. This person held a darker aura, a familiar aura, and deep in his heart Legolas knew what was coming. A single tear for the curses of fallen worlds threatened to fall down his face and he irritably blinked it away, though some fragments of the crystal droplets lingered on his lashes. _I have to be strong. _

_I have to. _

Since it was nightfall, Legolas had retired to his chambers to sleep—it was pleasant though not necessary. There the princeling had abandoned his weapons and traveling clothes for lighter garb. He had barely had time to grasp a dagger on his way down to the woods for so compelling was the call in his complex mind. His hand now tensed around the hilt of the blade, and he raised it, trying to keep his hand from shaking. The emotions were welling up in his heart without mercy...Legolas wanted to see his brother so badly, to try to bring him back to the light. He had done everything thus far only for Caleil, and in a way himself. Yet there also lingered in his thoughts dread and apprehension.

A lone figure began to emerge unseen from the gloom. He was perfectly silent and walking erect, with stretches of moonlight reaching out with pale fingers to lightly touch on his features—hair of gold, fair skin, characteristics of face that were patchy in the light but all too familiar...

The approaching figure had a quiver on his back and a bow as well, but held an Elven dagger in either hand. Abruptly he stepped forth and thrust the blades forward. With lightning reflexes, Legolas moved his single one into a block, and the clash of steel echoed in the night.

And Legolas looked into a face that was nearly a reflection of his own.

"Caleil," he whispered.

Caleil's face had hardly changed, but the feel of his presence was entirely different, and there dwelled dark shadows in his eyes. When Legolas looked into those eyes, he did not sense the love that had once been there...they were cold, cold and rigid and empty.

Caleil sneered with amusement, and stepped away, lowering the blades. "Legolas," he said bluntly. "You are the last person I expected to see here, _muindor-nin_."

"How can you still call me brother?" There was anger and hurt in Legolas' voice. "You would have slain me where I stand."

"Yes."

"And now that you see me, Caleil, would you still slay me?"

Caleil seemed to ponder this for a moment, before responding: "Yes."

He lowered the daggers, though. "It is a cruel world, Legolas, where the powerful triumph and none more." Legolas could see that Caleil was growing angry, though, and impatient with this obstruction.

"Am I in your way?" asked Legolas.

"Yes."

"You seek to kill the heir of Isildur."

Caleil's fingers brushed the blade of his dagger menacingly. "With arrow, not steel." He looked up at his younger brother with an air of malice. "Why? Do you seek to protect him? His traitorous race will be the downfall of all Middle-Earth."

Many thoughts plagued Legolas' mind then. _Do you not see, brother? It is not him I am trying to protect...to save. It's you. If only you could know. If only you could share my feelings and be the brother I once knew and still so tenderly love. _But all that came were words spoken in a cold tone.

"You, Caleil, are not one to speak of betrayal."

Legolas watched as his brother's eyes flashed. Out of the corner of his own eye Legolas saw Caleil's hands tighten, and leapt back as his brother once again slashed with the daggers, raising his own. Yet Legolas knew that it was a battle he could not win. Caleil had always been the better fighter, and had the advantage of a second weapon with which to attack.

At that moment, the world grew black and distant birds of the night ceased their dying song. Legolas felt as though things were passing ever so slowly before him, and he was trapped, alone, in a creeping continuum of space and time in which memories were one with the present despite the rifts that existed between them. In his mind's eye he could see flashes of molted red that served as a prophecy of life's blood yet to be spilled...

And so it was in those moments of drawn-out eternity that Caleil's two daggers overcame Legolas' one; the blade reflected a flash of silver light as it fell the short distance to the ground below. Legolas now had only reflexes and wit on his side—both of which Caleil also possessed in no mere quantity.

After a brief battle of dodging and steel gazes between fated kinsmen, the fight was lost.

Legolas felt the misstep and his hope sunk like a lead weight. Caleil reached out with slender fingers that twined about his brother's throat, while raising one of the daggers with his other hand and placing the cold steel just above his hold.

"Your false sense of righteousness was not worth dying for," said Caleil in a deceptively quiet voice mixed with rough breaths.

Legolas' eyes were full of unspeakable grieving torment as he beheld the face of his brother and betrayer.

"Perhaps not," he replied despondently, wishing to convey to Caleil one final message in hopes that someday his brother would find redemption. "But I have found, Caleil...that some things _are _worth fighting for."

Then Legolas heard from somewhere in the depths behind him the sound of two arrows being simultaneously drawn.

* * *

_**Fin. Longer chapter, one that I liked writing a lot. **_

_**Muindor-nin: My brother**_

_**The next chapter might take a bit longer to put up because I have to post Chapter 7 of Dawn of a King, which I have to get working on. **_

_**In a mixture of all the things I say to everyone, cheers, tootles, lemonoid, and namarie for now!** _


	6. Chapter 6: Eternity in a Moment

_**Hello to all readers and reviewers! Here is Chapter six. Elvish translations are at the end! **_

**_Disclaimer: Fābulam puacīs verbīs narrābō. I wrote the poem at the beginning so it belongs to me. Take that, fanfiction! Ok. Sorry, I'm just extremely angry. _**

* * *

Chapter 6: Eternity in a Moment

_There is silence  
__In the world that surrounds us  
__As we face these demons alone  
__Left to memories of things undone  
__Drowning in regret, for words unsaid...  
__And every day the silence grows. _

_When the road was long  
__When the path was dark  
__When you needed wings to fly  
__Or the stars to come down from distant skies  
__When you had no one to turn to..._

_We could have done it together  
__I've been here all along._

_Open your eyes  
__And the day will shine ever clearer  
__You'll see what stands beside you  
__The answers will be nearer._

_And if you would only look at me  
__We could venture to the unknown  
__You would glimpse eternity in a moment  
__And know that you're never alone. _

Caleil looked past Legolas, and there was an unspeakable fire of fury burning within his eyes. He was outnumbered even if only by one. As though with a reluctance to end the fervent passion of murder, Caleil withdrew the dagger ever so slowly and took a step back.

Legolas' breath returned and he dared to turn and look upon his saviors. Before him stood Elladan and Elrohir, their arrows drawn with the points of two identical arrowheads facing in the direction of Caleil and Legolas. Legolas stepped aside out of the pathway of the two projectiles, so that they faced only Caleil.

"Disarm yourself," ordered Elladan.

"If I do what you say," asked Caleil slyly. "Will you lower yours as well?"

The twins looked to one another, and Legolas glanced at his dagger, which was lying on the ground just beyond reach.

"Agreed," Elrohir finally said. "It will still be the both of us against you."

_What is he planning? _thought Legolas.

Caleil's lips parted into a contemptuous grin, and he slung the bow and the quiver from his back and unceremoniously tossed them to the ground, where they landed dully; the black-fletched arrows spilling out onto the ground with their shafts touched by the slivers of moonlight. Then Caleil let one of the daggers fall to the ground. The other he still had in his possession, and the twins' eyes grew more determined as they prepared to loose.

With another smile in their direction, Caleil flipped the knife so that he held the blade flatly in his hand, the hilt out first. He turned to Legolas. His younger brother was not far from reach, and so Caleil extended the hand with the dagger, offering the hilt.

"Take it, Legolas," he said.

Legolas looked Caleil in the eyes, and saw sincerity and determination there like he had so many times before in better times, yet now it was tinged with malice. Seeing no other option, he took the dagger. It felt so like his own. The same hilt, carved with the same leaf-like markings, a light green lined with gold and a curved blade inlaid with Elvish designs and runes. But the touch of it made a shiver run up Legolas' spine.

Caleil faced the twins again. "Your promise?"

Reluctantly, the two lowered their bows, but kept the arrows ready in their hands.

"We told you last time that if you were ever to be found here again, you would not leave with your life," said Elrohir bitterly, his tone admonitory.

"And I did not take it lightly. Nor do I say that I should live." Caleil's eyes shifted to Legolas. "But call it a request, call it a test, whatever you will...If I must die, let my brother slay me where I stand. Let me die at the hands of the victim whose throat I would have gladly opened only a few minutes ago."

Legolas' heart seemed to stop then, and the entire world around him was held at a standstill. Even the soft winds ceased to blow and Legolas could hear himself breathing heavily. He looked down at the knife in his hand, and then at Caleil.

_I am not a murderer. _

Caleil took a step towards his brother with his hands up in surrender, the palms facing forward. "Do you not think I deserve death, little brother? For all the innocents I have slaughtered and those whose deaths I mean to bring about? For the shame I caused our family and race? Do you not see me as a threat to all Middle-Earth?"

Legolas gripped the hilt so tight that white knuckles could be seen tugging at the surface of his skin. "I do."

"Then kill me!" said Caleil with a laugh. "If you do not, you will regret it later, and you will never have the same opportunity."

"Legolas, you do not have to do anything," said Elladan tensely. "A single arrow and we can end all this."

"No," Legolas said immediately. His hand began to tremble and his heart felt heavy within his chest. Caleil was so close to him now, no more than a foot away; all he had to do was shove the blade forward, it would take only a moment...

A moment that would linger in his mind forever.

"No," he said again, in quiet repetition. He stepped backwards and let the dagger slide from his hand. His eyes followed its path until it hit the ground, where it lay still, the steel half-covered in dirt and moss.

Caleil sneered. "Craven. You could never see beyond the childish notions of good that the world has instilled in you."

Suddenly, Legolas looked up darkly and faced his brother squarely. "Is that what you think, Caleil? Which of us here is craven? I will not become the monster you are...the coward you are, that you saw no other way out of the problems that faced you and resorted to mingling with dark powers. There is enough on my conscience without adding kin slaying."

That made Caleil's anger flare, but before he could advance on Legolas, the twins drew their arrows once more.

"I failed the test," said Legolas, looking at Elladan and Elrohir. "He won. He therefore has a right to go."

Now, the twins had their taste of fury, and with wide, angry eyes, they inclined their heads towards Legolas.

"We cannot let him go," Elladan said icily. With his head bent slightly downward, the light penetrating overhanging trees made his brows cast shadows over his eyes so that they were black, and all that shone as fair were the other features of his face. His dark hair and shaded eyes gave him the air of one seeking cruel justice. "Legolas, it would be folly to do so. Estel is our brother. We cannot let loose the murderer trying to kill him."

"He is _my _brother," Legolas retorted.

But Caleil was still in a rage, and at these words, his fists clenched and he took another step towards his younger brother, until they were directly eye to eye.

"You need not fear for the human, _brother._" he said. "I have a new prey." Then he turned to the twins. "Let me go," he said. "I have followers, and if you kill me now, your mortal brother with die a more gruesome death than ever he would have at my hands. And that is a promise. Though I may tell fatal truths, I have never told a lie."

Elladan and Elrohir could do nothing. They could not risk such a thing to pass. They hesitantly lowered their bows once more, but only slightly, and Elrohir jerked his head towards the forest borders.

"Get out."

Caleil did not waste a moment in walking past the cover of trees until he was exposed to the moonlight. The other three elves followed him. They watched in silence as he approached a black stallion, barebacked, standing still by a tree with ghostly yellow eyes...there was no tether, nothing to keep the creature at bay, but he stood without movement and watched Caleil until the elf was mounted. Once atop, Caleil turned back and addressed those who stood before him.

"I will play this game," he said. "Brother against brother, friend against friend, all enemies once connected by bonds of the fallacy of love. I will be back. That is my second promise, and do not doubt its truth."

The words rang hollow throughout the forsaken night. Caleil turned his horse around and began to ride, his black cloak trailing behind him, flapping in the wind as he disappeared into the distance beneath the moon and its ruthless stare.

The twins said nothing to Legolas and he said nothing to them either. All looked back towards the forest, where Aragorn was still hidden with Arwen, oblivious and lost in the labyrinth of love.

Legolas felt somehow empty, and although there were others about him, he also felt alone and misunderstood.

_He may be my brother, but I am dead to him. _

_How does one choose then, when torn between love and desolation? How does one choose the side on which light is cast when both are so laden with the shadows of past and present, and the hopeless, empty promises of the future?_

He turned back to the forest and walked beneath the trees in solitude. Elladan and Elrohir did not try to stop him, and he passed slowly through the area where Caleil had so recently stood. Legolas did not linger there but rather moved on through more moonlit paths, with soft leaves and rough branches brushing against his skin. Nightingales were singing their sweet laments. Once again noting the erratic positioning of light, a thought came to Legolas' mind when he realized the proximity about him was hidden in shadow.

_Light falls all around, but no light falls on me. _

Then, suddenly, Legolas found himself in an open glade, to where his feet had carried him without mental restraints. A brook was passing before him with light reflecting sharply from its surface at various points and angles. It made a passive gurgling, and above it passed a beautiful bridge of stone, around which trees hung in a formation of differing leaves so that the one spot stood out among those around it. A single leaf fell lightly from one of the trees and landed with silence on the water, rippling the superficies ever so little.

But it was what Legolas saw on the bridge's center that caught his attention. There stood Aragorn, his arms about the daughter of Elrond, stroking the soft radiance of the dark hair that tumbled in gentle waves down her back. Her arms were about his neck as well. Their mouths were pressed together, in a passionate yet somehow innocent kiss. They were as one. Though Arwen's beauty far surpassed the ranger's rugged appearance, he seemed to complement her, and together they were like two halves of a whole with each half bringing out the full beauty of the other.

Legolas felt jealously rise within him. In his mind, he chided himself for feeling that way, but he could not help wondering why love should come to another and be taken so terribly from him. Where was the justice of Illúvatar? Of the world itself? Nowhere. It was hidden deep within the bowels of the earth where it could never be reached.

They had not noticed him. Legolas turned quickly and without so much as the slightest sound made his way out of the woods.

His mind reflected on Caleil's words and actions, the look in his dark eyes, and realized something.

_He was sincere..._

_He wanted me to kill him._

And that thought, that his brother was beyond redemption to the point of desiring death that he would not inflict upon himself, scared Legolas more than anything.

* * *

The sun was young the day that followed. Legolas was sitting atop a cliff at a far end of Rivendell, where a rushing waterfall cascaded into the depths nearby. He was sitting at the bank of the river and looking out on the beauty that was Imladris with far-seeing eyes. 

A figure stood alone on a balcony, the folds of her royal blue dress swirling about her, her hair swept behind her as the wind blew lightly. There was joy in her. In her expression, the way she carried herself, everything expressed contentment, and Legolas felt a burning within him wishing that he too could feel such a thing as Arwen did. Her hand was idly lingering about her neck.

Then Legolas' gaze drifted downwards, and he saw her lover sitting alone. He was near the border of the forest, not involved in the activities of the day. In his hand there twinkled a minute silver star that he looked upon with a furrowed brow and sorrowful eyes.

Somehow, it made Legolas sad, and regret tore at him for having felt jealous of the two the night before. How must it feel? To want something with all of your heart, and yet know that it can bring only death? Then Legolas realized: he _did _know how it felt.

_All this time, I had only barely scratched the surface. I have more in common with this mortal than I would ever have thought possible..._

_But could I ever bring myself to trust a mortal again? When it was the treachery of Men that first turned Caleil to dark ways?_

Legolas' hand went to his own neck. There was a small scar there, barely a cut that was scabbing over, a tiny rough spot that brushed against his hand. It was the spot where blood had been drawn by Caleil's dagger. The scar would soon fade. Yet it hurt more than the worst of wounds Legolas had suffered, and the scar would forever remain in his mind...because the blade had pierced his emotions, his hope, penetrating to a hidden place where grief was most profound.

Then Legolas remembered...it had been their father first, but mostly Caleil who had turned Legolas to the mistrust of different races. Perhaps it was time to break free of that. Because if Legolas was alone for much longer, with these thoughts and woeful heart, there was no telling what might become of him. He needed understanding more than he could say. And now, he realized that the one he had been traveling with for so much time already was probably one of the few in the world with whom he could form that understanding.

_Maybe it is time for change...to go against the ideals of one who is fallen, lest I should fall as well. _

* * *

In the distance, the man on whom Legolas' gaze lingered had his own dark thoughts to attend to. 

The moments passed slowly. As time drew on, Aragorn felt more and more guilt bearing down upon him—for lying to Elrond, for lying to Arwen. He did not deserve her love. Last night, all he had done was draw her closer, made their bond stronger to the point where breaking it would tear their very souls. Was it all for naught? Those feelings, those emotions, that joy of being with a lover...why could so many others have that love, but Aragorn's love was burdened by the promise of death? He should not have gone to her. He should have ended it, ended everything.

_But I cannot live without her. _

The glistening, crystalline object in his hand refracted light so that rainbows dwelled before Aragorn's eyes in a constant array of beauty.

Earlier, Aragorn had been so happy to return to the simple splendor of his home, to be Estel, if just for a moment, to be free of troubles. But once something is broken, though it can be pieced together so expertly that the cracks are invisible, it will never truly be whole. So it was with Aragorn. He could never be Estel again. Now, he remembered why he had left...

And realized why he couldn't stay here.

It was then that Aragorn resolved to set out again. Only, since he was accepting the part of him that belonged to the world far from Imladris, it was only fitting that he begin something new, set out on a different life.

_I cannot run from it forever._

It was time to face the world of Men. Time to learn their ways, to be among them, to see how a king of Men ruled and what responsibilities might someday come to him. Aragorn could not bring himself to consider Gondor; in his heart he desired very much to set eyes upon it but knew that it was not yet time. The City of Kings would know the son of Arathorn at a different time. However, there was another great kingdom of Men, in which he could find purpose and perhaps peace. Rohan was currently prospering and had the wise king Thengel as its ruler. To go to the Mark, to learn the language and culture appealed to Aragorn.

The idea began to form. If he could leave Rivendell without fuss, perhaps in the cover of night, then he could serve the horse-lords in disguise and being a new stage of his life.

Aragorn smiled sadly as he closed his hands about the Evenstar.

_Yet there are some things I will never be able to let go of. _

* * *

Aragorn had packed his few belongings and necessities by the time the moon was rising. Another day was gone, and it was time for things to end which should have long ago been ended, time for things to begin which should have already begun. The Evenstar was around his neck. 

He looked out of the window in his chamber. Rivendell stretched out beyond the glass, and some Elves walked about even at this late hour, in fair garb, often a bright white that almost seemed to glow against the darkness.

"_Mas ledhiach?_"

Aragorn turned abruptly, surprised at the soundless intrusion. Elladan and Elrohir stood in the doorway.

He sighed deeply. "_Amin-hariatha," _he said in reply. "You know that I have to do this, my brothers."

Elladan came forward, giving Aragorn a smile that hid the sorrow of parting beneath it. "We knew." The elf said nothing more, and then his twin walked forth to stand beside him.

"_Namarie, _Estel," said Elrohir. "You must promise to visit."

Aragorn smiled, and the three shared a tight embrace. "Remember the name we gave you, Aragorn," said Elladan. It was the first time one of the twins had ever called him by that name...and it would be the first of many things to change. "We called you _Estel, _hope. Give hope to the world of Men, to all of Middle-Earth. It is never gone."

Then another figure entered into the room in silence and the smile was gone from Aragorn's face.

Arwen looked to her brothers, and they parted so that she may stand before her beloved. She touched the Evenstar lightly, remembering fateful promises, and then put her hand softly on Aragorn's face. He reached up hesitantly and touched it.

"If Elr—" Aragorn began.

She moved her fingers to his lips, silencing him_. "Guren nallatha nalú achenin le," _she whispered. Aragorn was moved with grief.

"_Goheno nin..." _he responded quietly. There was confusion in Arwen's eyes at that. _She does not see all that has to be forgiven. I am taking her life from her, does she not understand? _

"_Uivelin le, Arwen Undómiel," _he continued. And he laid on her cheek a parting kiss.

* * *

Not much time later, Aragorn was out in the open beneath the night, passing through a veranda and making his way out of Rivendell. The white swirling pillars rose up about him and the occasional leaf lay alone on the ground underfoot. At times, unseen figures watched him from trees both near and far, hearing his every breath and footstep; a fact of which, even after so much time amongst the Elves, Aragorn was still oblivious. 

But the encounters with the twins and Arwen would not be Aragorn's last before leaving Rivendell. There was one more elf that he would see and speak with; the elf that was sitting alone on a white bench, looking down at the ground, wallowing in lonely thoughts as he waited for the ranger to come near.

When Aragorn did come near and see the elf palely illuminated in solitude, he found himself surprised; yet in a way he had known it would happen. There was something about Legolas Greenleaf that had confused and intrigued him...and Aragorn had known that before leaving, he would come across the mysterious sylvan elf once more.

He came to a stop before Legolas, whose eyes were still downcast.

"You are not looking at the stars," the ranger said.

Legolas looked up at Aragorn, who was surprised at the torment in the elf's eyes. "They offer me no guidance."

A silence followed. Aragorn shifted, feeling awkward. "I must leave Rivendell," he finally said. "I must seek fortune elsewhere." When Legolas did not reply, he turned and began to walk away, mumbling a farewell.

"It would be unknown to most that the path of love can be so bleak," Legolas said belatedly, to Aragorn's retreating back. The ranger stopped in his tracks and felt unjustified and inexplicable anger rise within him. What did this elf know? He quickly turned back, and walked over to the bench. Legolas stood when he drew near.

"What do you know of it?" he asked bitterly. "More so, what is it that you know of me, of my love?"

Legolas' expression was neutral as he spoke. "More than you would ever have guessed. Yet I have not been spying on you, if that is what you mean to accuse me of."

That left Aragorn with nothing to say, and he relaxed slightly, feeling a bit foolish. Legolas began to pace and walked behind the ranger, looking out at the night, his fair face tilted slightly upward as he came to a stop by one of the pillars, laying a hand against it.

"Caleil was here last night," the elf said quietly. "Where now is it safe? For you and the others whom he hunts from the danger he brings, for me from the sorrow he brings?" He cast a look back at Aragorn. "I know about being torn between love and duty, Aragorn. It is a heartbreaking road on which to travel."

Aragorn looked away after his eyes locked with Legolas' for a brief moment. Despite the insecurity and fading anger he felt, he realized the truth in the elf's words...although he did not wish to dwell any more on it. Guilt came to him as he realized that he was not the only one going through trying times.

_Could anyone possibly feel the same way I feel? _

_Perhaps...perhaps we have simply been misunderstood. _

Aragorn walked over until he stood beside Legolas. Neither looked at the other; they simply stared out into the distance, thinking.

"You do not know me," Aragorn said after some time had passed, wondering how the elf would reply. "You cannot."

Legolas' response was immediate. ""And neither do I know myself or where I stand in this life. Does that sound familiar to you, Aragorn?"

_Too familiar. Those were and are the thoughts of one alone in the world. _

Aragorn voiced his thoughts, seeing no other way to answer. "Too familiar." He turned to Legolas. "What is it that you want?"

"I want understanding. Thus far, we have been hostile towards one another as the road went on, yet I see now that you may be one of the few in the world you understands my feelings. Therefore, I was hoping to accompany you wherever you are headed...not only for the sake of companionship, but also because my brother is still a threat to your life. And now, it would seem, mine as well." _You need not fear for the human, brother...I have a new prey. _

Aragorn sighed and thought for a moment. He did not want complete solitude, but thus far Legolas had not proven to be the companion he had in mind. Yet he had never been one to turn others down, and knew that he needed the same thing this elf did—understanding. Perhaps something could come of this. It may take awhile, but something might come. Fate might prove that the two were meant for more than cold hearts and empty promises.

"I head to the Mark," Aragorn said finally. "Would you go there as well? You do not seem keen on my race." The last sentence he spoke at a somewhat sarcastic ring to it.

Legolas seemed to contemplate for a moment. "No, I fear I will not be well-received in Rohan." He looked over at Aragorn. "But concerning your race...there are some things I have to let go of, in order for other things to occur, and I wish to be better acquainted with them while relinquishing my bitterness towards them. I have been selfish most of my life...conceited at times, even, thinking myself a step above. It is time that I change that; time to give rather than receive. I am willing to trust Men again. It will not be immediate, but it is something I must do."

"Then where will you go?" the ranger asked, thoughts passing slowlythrough his mind as he reflected on Legolas' words.

"To my own homeland. I cannot save Middle-Earth, and I cannot save either of us from Caleil and his dark madness,for I have realized that I can offer you no protection." Legolas thought of the night before and how he had not been able to slay Caleil. He could never do so, not to protect Aragorn, for he had not even done it to protect himself. To be able to kill his brother to save Middle-Earth was something Legolas could not yet do. "But I have been far from Mirkwood and my father for too long. Perhaps I could travel in your companionship over the mountains and such, and when we near the border of Mirkwood I would depart and let you continue towards your destination. I simply cannot be alone right now, and I cannot be here, among rejoicing when my own heart holds such misery. Only destruction can result from such bitter solitude."

_Maybe there can be something more. _

After a few silent moments, Aragorn gave a small smile. After all, Elladan and Elrohir were friends with Legolas, so he must have qualities that had not yet been discovered. _I have to let go of things too, _the ranger thought to himself. _I will be trusting. And I will be more open. And then, through a relationship I had not anticipated, maybe I can finally find a comrade. _

They shared a look. "We depart then," Aragorn said softly. "I only have one condition."

"What would that be?"

"That you hide from me no secrets I should know, and tell me no lies. I have faced far too much of that."

Legolas nodded and an impartial half smile came to him, bearing sadness in it. "That I can agree with. But what of the Orcs? They still live, I can feel it."

Aragorn looked at the stars twinkling in the distance, each surrounded by an aura of gray light. "I will hunt them...when my time comes."

There was no reply. Aragorn and Legolas glanced at each other once more, then without words, turned and began to walk, embarking on a journey that would lead them to places they could not have imagined.

And eternity was unveiled in a moment, as two bound by fate turned to meet foreign roads. They walked side by side as companions. Not truly as friends yet, for such strong relationships can only be formed over time and the creation of fond memories, but as two among those few in the world who have reached a point where each dwells in an abyss of loneliness and deception, therefore have formed a bond of understanding through which more had the potential to develop.

And, indeed, more would develop. The bond of Aragorn and Legolas, which would bring so many great things of which tales would be told and songs would be sung, was just beginning to emerge from beneath steel barriers.

* * *

_**Mas ledhiach:** Where are you going?_

_**Amin-hariatha: **I am sorry._

_**Namarie: **Farewell._

_**Guren nallatha nalú achenin le: **My heart shall weep until I see thee again._

_**Goheno nin: **Forgive me._

_**Uivelin le, Arwen Undómiel: **I will always love you, Arwen Evenstar. _

* * *

_**If anyone knows of a person who reviews LOTR humor fics named Samantha Moore, please let me know. I used to be part of another account; Artanis and Aranel. She was our friend (my sister and I) but we've lost contact it seems. Fanfiction kicked my sister and I off cuz our stories were in script form; evil. They got really good reviews too. Oh well, I shall live. **_

_**Question of the Day: What does 'agoobwa' mean? **_

_**A jolly good day to everyone out there, and remember to smell the roses, as well as the mushrooms if you have a chance. **_


	7. Chapter 7: Recollections

_**Hello to all readers and reviewers once again! Enjoy chapter 7. **_

_**Not much blood or gore or torture (sorry, viggomaniac...); this chapter is mainly memories. It's meant to explore Caleil's feelings towards Legolas and Legolas' feelings towards Caleil.**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR, Middle-Earth or any places therein, or any of Tolkien's characters. **_

_**Claimer: I own Caleil, Táridil, Finhir, and other characters that I have invented for this story. **_

_**Also, I wrote and therefore own all lyrics and poetry used in the story henceforth. **_

* * *

Chapter 7: Recollections

_Some say in a memory  
__There exists a thousand years  
__All bound in a second's passing  
__In a single falling tear. _

"_The agony of pain  
__The sorrow of submission  
__The touch of searing hate  
__A fatal admonition..." _

_Is a memory a moment lost  
__In the passing present?  
__Or another world not quite gone  
__That tells us what we're given?_

"_The joy of a friend  
__The warmth of the sun  
__A smile through darkness  
__The first battle won..."_

_Whether they be cherished or resented  
__Forever begins with a faint recollection. _

Caleil went out into the night, shadows passing by his sight as his black stallion galloped through the darkness. He drove the beast on with brutal urgency borne out of the anger that still burned within him. As he did so, Caleil kept a determined gaze fixed on the road before him, trying to let the fury die as he contemplated his destination.

The destination that Caleil had in mind was not, in fact, far from Rivendell; just a short ride westward. He would be able to reach it before the coming of dawn if he continued at a good pace. It was an outcropping of rock not far from the mountains, that led eventually to narrow paths within the landforms through which hidden worlds could be accessed.

The night was dry; a welcome change from rainy conditions that had so plagued past days and nights. For once, Caleil's horse had sure footing and did not slip or slide on muddy ground, and locks of the elf's long hair were not plastered to his face. Though rain was not a problem, it could most certainly be a nuisance. No...this night was dry and quiet. The sound of the horse's thundering footsteps was nearly swallowed by the grass that grew so abundantly in the valley stretch that led to the Misty Mountains. Besides that, the only significant sound to reach Caleil's keen ears was the wind that passed him by so quickly and the gently swish of his cloak beating rhythmically against the air.

Caleil was a bit weary; the fight and anger and lust for killing had drained him, left him empty and desiring of blood to spill. Ever since the elf had turned to dark ways, drawing the blood of others had given him a twisted joy and rush of power. Such strong emotions would often leave him tired if they were left unfulfilled. It was one of those times, therefore Caleil anticipated arriving at the hideout so that he could cease riding.

Within a short period, even shorter to an elf who lives for eternity, Caleil's destination was in sight. The sky of the night was beginning to pale to a star-dotted gray and distant mountains in the east began to get a reddish hue about their summits, signifying that the sun's rising was near at hand. Caleil knew that his exhausted horse was slowing. From the rear portion of his belt, he drew a coiled whip with the bone handle fitted to his grip, and gave the creature a lash that cracked and resounded throughout the night in order to keep the pace. The horse was perspiring, and salivated due to vigorous exercise without hydration; droplets of the moisture whipped out of its mouth and flew back through the air. Caleil ignored it.

He pulled roughly on the horse's mane as they neared the rock. Behind the outcropping rose several other gigantic boulders, until they lead up to the rockier part of the mountain base. The stallion slowed, its breathing labored and its head drooping. It walked forward with the minimal amount of effort.

Caleil maneuvered the animal around to the rear of the rock, where it had split to form an opening large enough to fit horse and rider through, but not so large as to be conspicuous in the shadows of the other rocks. The horse whinnied uncomfortably as they passed through the narrow opening.

There was a small tunnel, concealed in a deep darkness that no ray of light could touch. The only light that could be seen (and, at that, only once the traveler had reached a midway point) was the flickering, unsettled light of torch-flames, coming from torches that hung in brackets against the stone walls up ahead. The tunnel would eventually widen and go downhill, in twisting paths until it reached a cavern opening.

It was through there that Caleil now traveled. The walls were within an inch of his shoulders, for the pathway was that narrow. He was in the front portion where there was naught but darkness but making steady progress. Pretty soon, the red glow of the flames would be coming into view, and softly illuminate the black walls to a point of visibility.

When they did come into view, after a long trip through the dark, it was only a short journey to the cavern-mouth. Caleil expertly led his horse through the sharp turns. As he passed by the torches, he could hear them hissing in his ear, and feel a touch of the heat against his pale facial skin because of how close they were.

It was then that the mouth of the cave opened a few yards before him. Several Orcs stood guard at the entrance, wicked crossbows ready in their hands, and they seemed almost disappointed upon seeing Caleil—such was their desire to use the weapons. Yet Orcs were not the only creatures in the cave. Others were enlisted in Caleil's service, apart from servants of Sauron with whom he had come to be allied; there were also the wild men, whom Caleil had convinced to join his cause with promises of true freedom as well as bribes to satisfy their avariciousness. The greatest minority among the dark elf's followers were others such as he—other fallen elves. There were no more than four in the gigantic cavern. However, it was they who wielded perhaps the greatest power, for it had been Caleil's Elven spies who had told him when the Rangers had passed near Mirkwood, so that he might find the human. It was them as well who had been in Rivendell and told Caleil of the arrival there; they had been the ones to open the valley to him come nightfall. Such powerful beings were excellent as comrades and perilous as foes.

For all of these, Caleil's goal had some promise. The creatures of Mordor desired power. They would rid the world of the heir of Isildur, and so return to their master with a grand prize. None had spoken word of Aragorn to Sauron—that would lessen their accomplishments if they should indeed succeed in his murder. The Orcs, Caleil had learned, were quick in the art of treachery, and their hearts were so completely corrupt that they would turn to whoever could offer them a greater share of authority in a heartbeat. That fact had been to Caleil's advantage. The majority of his followers were orcs or goblins, and none so far had breathed a word of it to Sauron. To have the Dark Lord know of this...it would ruin everything. This was a matter of revenge. If Sauron found the heir to the throne of Gondor, Caleil would be left with nothing, no way to avenge the wrong that Men had done to him; and as usual he would be no more than a shadow in the light of greater things. He had faced it all too often before turning to dark ways, but now in this different world he would have the influence that had always made him covetous. Besides, Sauron was still weak, his plans for domination still festering. Caleil's plans were already set.

The rest, the Elves and Men, were mostly willing to accept bribes. They had nothing left in life and therefore saw no other alternative. As long as they did as he told, this mattered not to Caleil. All of the promises he had made he intended to keep once the task was carried out.

Many heads turned upon Caleil's entrance, and a great variety of eyes met his, all of which were illuminated by the red flames of feeble fires. These glows also flickered within the steel of weapons that lay strewn with the rocks across the dirt ground. Silence fell after a few moments of dying whispers, and pretty soon all in attendance were glancing nervously at their leader, anxious to hear of his dealings.

Caleil ignored most of the looks, and swept gracefully from the horse's back, the folds of his black cloak swirling down around him. He handed the stallion over to one of the men nearby and instructed him to take care of the beast. The man did so, leading the animal over to where other horses stood, to groom and feed it. Caleil cared not for the horse, but it was the fastest and strongest among those he had, and therefore he needed it to remain in good health. It was then that the elf turned to those facing him.

He motioned to Ancadur, a sylvan elf from the very same place as he, who had been his most useful informer. Caleil led Ancadur to the back portion of the cave, where there was another slight tunnel that led to a smaller space, open enough for comfort but secluded enough for uninterrupted and private conversation. Caleil could sense the disappointment the others felt that they would have to wait for news and instructions but paid it no heed.

Caleil was alone with Ancadur at that point. The other elf had an inquisitive gleam in his eye, but said nothing and remained with a calm expression of stone.

"I found them in Rivendell," Caleil said.

Ancadur locked eyes with Caleil. "And did you find him who you seek, my lord? The one whom we all seek?"

Caleil gave a cocky grin, and began to pace the small enclosure, apparently amused. "Many assassinations fail, Ancadur. Even with our force, they fail. And do you know why they fail?"

"No, I do not. They should not fail if they are well-planned."

"Because somebody gets in the way of those plans." Caleil turned back to Ancadur, his eyes glistening dangerously. "In this case, it was two who got in the way."

"And who were they?"

"One was the daughter of Elrond. I found the mortal in the forest." Caleil's hand formed into a tight fist, and he set his jaw, controlling rage brought by the mere memory of Isidur's heir. "He was with her. I found it utterly revolting that he would seek to defile her." Of course, Caleil was not one to speak of purity being defiled, but Ancadur said nothing. "But if I killed him in front of her, I would have to kill her as well, and then I risk having to worry about an army from Rivendell hunting me down, and that is something I would rather avoid. So I waited in the shadows...until I heard another approaching."

There was a moment of silence as Ancadur shifted uncomfortably. Caleil's eyes bore into the ground, searing hate contained therein.

"Who was the other, my lord?" asked Ancadur, willing to risk Caleil's rage in order to hear of the journey.

Caleil's voice was low and bitter when he answered.

"My brother."

Ancadur seemed surprised at that. "Prince Legolas?"

"Do you know of another brother I have? If so, please tell me, so that I can rid myself of all of them at once." Caleil's temper was hot, and Ancadur fell silent. Caleil again began his slow pacing. "This complicates things. I knew that Legolas has been trying to find me for years, but I never thought he would go about it this way. I never thought he would bind himself to the human. And if I know my brother at all, he did not do it out of love for Men, but because he has some false notion that he can change things back to the way they were. He has always been inclined to such foolishness. So now I have him to deal with."

Ancadur looked up suddenly, and it was evident that his mind was full of racing thoughts. "But, Lord Caleil, why not just...kill him? Why not remove the threat? You could do it easily, as could we."

"I almost did." Caleil stopped, his face thoughtful, considering options. "I had the dagger at his throat. It would have ended, had the sons of Elrond not come to his rescue. The danger here is that he has seen now that I cannot be changed, that things cannot be undone. I fear that Legolas will go to Mirkwood. If he does, he knows the danger I pose, and might just tell my father about me. Then I have an army behind me anyway." Suddenly, a white-hot fury was ignited in Caleil's eyes, and the dark stone enclosure seemed to grow ever the darker about him, such was the elf's rage. He slammed a fist against the wall and his voice rose threateningly. "Why does he always have to get involved! He always feels a need to play with my emotions, to tamper with my resolve! I did not need my little brother to be added to my troubles. Father always doted on him, everyone did; he was the kind and righteous prince that they never saw me as. He was Mirkwood's valiant hero though I far surpassed him in skill! Why, _why does he always have to be involved?" _Caleil's was yelling now, his voice vibrating off the walls, his fists clenched, his right knuckles bloody from slamming that fist against the stone. Once he finished speaking, his chest was heaving and his breathing was fast. Ancadur said nothing and wisely waited for his leader to regain control.

Finally, reason came back to Caleil, replacing the passionate anger. He spoke again, but in a quiet, silky voice that was far more dangerous than his yelling. "He will pay for this. I hate him, and if possible, I want now to kill him even more so than the human. Vengeance is what I desire...and by killing them both that desire will be satisfied."

"How will you go about it?" asked Ancadur, curiosity getting the better of him and bringing out the question in a submissive tone.

Caleil's lips parted into a malicious smile. "I will make them suffer, as I was made to suffer," he said. He looked over at Ancadur and it was obvious that there was no lie in his eyes. "And if I know my brother, the easiest way to make him suffer is to attack his heart. My mind perceives the future. Legolas has tried to hide it, but he is always in need of understanding, of companionship, even if it means jumping to trust. He will bond with this Aragorn. And we will watch, and wait, until this happens...then I will attack my brother's heart. Do you know of the things I saw when they tortured me? Not only was there physical pain, but they broke down my very mind and heart."

Caleil said no more, and walked swiftly out into the tunnel with his cloak trailing behind him.

Ancadur was left to silent thoughts.

_What is this? Is it truly hatred, vengeance? Or is it withheld love, just beyond reach, that brings one to seek out dark dangers because they know that old relationships cannot be reclaimed?_

As Ancadur left not long after Caleil, these thoughts were in his mind and he remembered the relationships of his past, his family and friends...and for a moment felt a tinge of hopelessness and sorrow, of guilt and disgust, feeling no less defiled or corrupted than those creations of Sauron that he now cooperated with.

* * *

Dawn. 

The sunrise was particularly magnificent that day, the morning after Legolas and Aragorn departed from Rivendell. A few clouds were strewn about the morning sky. Their edges were painted with gold and hues of pink, and rays of those colors and more reached out from just beyond distant mountaintops, signaling that a new day was coming in a beautiful and almost blinding array. One could almost hear the choirs of Illúvatar letting out their joyous hymns.

Beneath the spectacular morning, two figures walked, heading back eastward on the very same path that they had traveled on to reach the destination which they were now leaving. It was an open land, which had previously been spoiled by the rainy conditions. Yet now the green grass of the valley could be seen. At some parts, the grass was fading to a yellow-gold, due to the autumnal cycles, and the leaves of far-off trees were the same colors that lit the sky. It all made for a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

Because they had desired to get as far from Rivendell as possible in a short amount of time, Legolas and Aragorn had traveled quickly through the night and again with little conversation. Aragorn was beginning to tire but said nothing. He looked ahead, and heard the sound of the light flow of water, and noticed that a passive rivulet ran through the valley.

"We can rest at the brook, if you desire," said Legolas, as though reading the Ranger's thoughts. "I assume that you are tired."

"Living with Elves cannot make me one of them," Aragorn responded. "I tire as does all of my kind. And I feel extremities, and am not as resilient to pain. I am only mortal. So yes, we will have to make some stops so that my mortal necessities might be accommodated."

Legolas got an amused gleam in his eye. "Yes, of course. The differences between Elves and Men are many, not excluding appearance; though do not by any means consider yourself inferior. No one is perfect." His mouth was twitching as he tried to retain a grin.

Aragorn looked at the elf suspiciously. "What are you implying?"

Legolas returned the ranger's gaze, looking him up and down, lightly brushing his fingertips along his own clean-shaven face and well-groomed hair. "Nothing at all."

Legolas was amused for the rest of the morning. Aragorn had gotten the message, and when they rested by the stream he used the waters to rid himself of some of the grime, occasionally throwing his companion irritated glances. The elf was lying on the grass, looking straight up at the sky, lost in thought.

Aragorn reached into one of the packs, and took out some dried fruit with which to satisfy his hunger. "Hungry?" he asked the elf.

"A bit. I like fruit."

"It's dry."

"I like dry fruit as well."

Aragorn shrugged. Legolas sat up as the ranger gave him a piece; the elf had been thinking much and had a slightly whimsical look on his face. His spirits seemed unusually high. For a few moments, they ate in silence. Then Aragorn spoke, seeing a good opportunity to make amends.

"I don't think you're conceited, Legolas," he said.

Legolas looked over at his companion, and gave a small smile. "It is usually in one's nature to be slightly self-deprecating when attempting to be apologetic."

"Well, it's my turn to be apologetic. I never should have judged you." He returned the smile warmly. "Besides, Elladan and Elrohir would never be friends with anyone who's selfish or conceited. I should have known that. I apologize for having been, in my own way, selfish and thinking only of my problems."

"I cannot blame you. It is difficult to be open when one is plagued by so many troubles. Perhaps the journey to Rivendell would have been less taxing if we had understood one another then; it would have been more of a companionship."

Aragorn nodded in agreement, and looked out over the open valley. "It's a beautiful day. They are quite rare at these times."

"Quite. The weather is warm, the stream is clear, and the skies are blue. It's as though the world is trying to forget its sorrows." Legolas took a small bite of the fruit, and then spent a few moments looking it over in his hand. "I remember when there used to be many days like this. The trees of Mirkwood blossomed and were green, and light penetrated the thick boughs. I was young."

"You must have fond memories from childhood," said Aragorn, recalling his own childhood.

Legolas smiled sadly, his gaze distant as he remembered. "I do. I remember my mother, my father...and Caleil most of all. We used to be so very close. It was he who showed me how to draw a bow, he who showed me the beauty of the world; we would go through the forest together in daylight and try to count the stars upon nightfall..." Legolas' voice trailed off, and his silver eyes were downcast.

Aragorn had a question burning in his mind, but did not know if he dare ask it, for he knew most of all how it hurt to visit dark memories. Legolas looked up and their gazes met. The elf smiled again, seeing the curiosity in his companion.

"Aragorn," he said almost grimly. "I promised you: no secrets and no lies. I swear to tell everything. That way, I can open myself, and begin a necessary change. Therefore, I will answer anything you ask. What is it that you want to ask?"

"I would not ask it. It might pain you." Aragorn was surprised at how willing the elf was to tell the truth. _Would I tell him everything?_

_If he tells me everything, I owe him that much. _

Legolas shook his head. "Sometimes, the worst moments in one's life are the things that should be remembered, so that we can better shape the future."

Aragorn shifted a bit, watching for a moment the grass as it swayed in the wind, and the brook as the waters passed under smooth stones that covered the bottom. Then he looked back at Legolas.

"Legolas...what happened to Caleil? What so hardened him and turned him against Men? And, in reality, turned him against the world?"

Legolas let out a sigh. "A reasonable question," he said. "I knew you would ask it sooner or later.

"It all occurred hundreds of years ago...it seems so long to some, but in my memory it is as yesterday. My brother and I were serving our father in the army. We both held high positions, and Caleil even held the higher. We would sometimes be sent as emissaries and scouts, going out and doing errands for our father; our voices were especially useful in matters of diplomacy. Yet not all was well in Mirkwood. At times there were goblin and warg raids, at which point we would be called upon to fight. My mother was the victim of one such raid." There was great sorrow in Legolas' eyes as he continued, and Aragorn thought he saw the beginnings of crystalline tears forming in them. "The things they did to her...I cannot say. They were too horrible. From then on, Caleil and I swore a solemn oath to avenge her, to pursue and destroy dark servants whenever and wherever possible...but it was that occurrence that first hardened my brother.

"Our father had always been wary, and shown us to not be quick in trust, but Caleil became so distrustful that he was almost paranoid. He began to shut himself off from me and we could no longer talk as we once did. I felt him growing more distant with each passing day, and at times I felt that I no longer knew my brother. Day and night he trained, trying to become the fiercest warrior in all of Mirkwood, and some of his ideas were so vindictive that it was frightening."

"But they were goblins," Aragon said. "Goblins and wargs, creatures who should be pursued and destroyed because they pose a threat to the free peoples of Middle-Earth. Why would Caleil have turned to dark ways because of that?"

Legolas shook his head. "The main spark did not come until later. We were beginning to see the first stirrings of activity from the Land of Shadow; therefore my father sought to create alliances and strengthen his forces. He would often send scouts throughout Mirkwood and especially try to patrol Rhovanion. By then, Caleil held the highest position in the army, and it was his responsibility to recruit and train others as well as lead us should battle come. He was my father's heir...and probably the best fighter the woodland realm had ever seen. Yet more and more often I found myself under his command; one of his soldiers, one of his kinsmen, but not his brother, and he would always go out of his way to outdo me in everything.

"So naturally, he volunteered to be the emissary on the most important trip: a journey seeking alliance with Men. Caleil grew frustrated; he found no support in Gondor or Rohan, for they found his conditions unreasonable and diplomatic skills lacking. However, he did not want to come home a failure. He struck a deal with some wildling men, Rangers as you were...Rangers who came from lands farther south. They came to Mirkwood and trained with our armies. They were among us, our friends, our brothers; and pretended to be men of Gondor by Caleil's persuasion so that my father would not be disappointed."

Legolas paused for a moment, averting his eyes, looking away from Aragorn. "Yet they were treacherous men. I know now that not all are, and that it is wrong to assume as much."

Aragorn thought briefly of Táridil. "It would appear that treachery comes more easily to wild folk."

Legolas gave a slight nod, and then continued with the tale. "There came time for a battle. It was a minor battle, not far from the borders of Mirkwood. Caleil went in full of confidence. However, the Orcs who were there and the Goblins, they double-teamed us and attacked from two sides so that the army had to be split. Caleil and I were separated. I led one unit, he led the other. The Men followed his lead because it was he who had sent for them.

"However, it turned out that the Men were corrupt, and for fairly high bribes had become turn-cloaks. They had struck a deal with the Orcs and in the middle of the battle turned to the enemy side. The Elves were horribly outnumbered." Legolas paused, the tears threatening to fall from his eyes as he swallowed a lump rising in his throat. "And every single one was killed. All except for Caleil. They captured him, and mocked him; almost all of the Orcs had died in battle and the Goblins cared not for him, but the Men decided to extend their cruelty. He was brutally tortured. The scars still exist, as a reminder of that which he will never forget. My brother was taken to the brink of death and nearly fell into its chasm.

"But he managed to escape. In the dark of night, he was able to flee the dungeon in which he was held. He went into the wild. There, he formed the idea that no matter how much good is in a person, it is raw power that triumphs in the end, and he decided that he would gain power however he could.

"When he regained his strength, Caleil went back, and with very few followers slew the Men who had betrayed him; he killed each after watching them suffer. And he enjoyed it. My brother did not return to Mirkwood after, but I was sent on a scouting mission to find him and we met. We spent a few hours together in a smaller forest...the same forest in which you and I first met. There he told me of everything that had occurred. I sensed the change in him right away; he had enjoyed the sensation of killing, of dominion. When I tried to persuade him to return to Mirkwood he refused. He said that his vengeance was yet incomplete, and that the world of good and love and beauty no longer appealed to him; all he desired was power. The last thing he told me was that he was lost to the world. And then he left.

"I could not bear to tell my father. Rather, I said that Caleil had died, which he had in a way. I attended my brother's funeral while knowing all along that he was alive physically but dead spiritually. Since then, I have sought him out, trying to bring about change and make things as they once were. But it was a fruitless attempt. Then I saw him one night; enshrouded by darkness as he made the bribe to Táridil. That's how I found out who he wanted to kill. I knew, because Elladan and Elrohir had told me, who and what you were, and I therefore knew that it was the same man. I convinced them to tell me of your whereabouts. When I found you, you had discovered the traitor, and I witnessed his execution from afar. It was not long after that we had our first encounter."

There was a lasting silence after. Aragorn looked into the passive waters, contemplating Legolas' words, and imagining how it must feel. What if one of the twins was to fall into darkness as Caleil had? Could he bear it? It was a horrible and sinking thought. He remembered how fondly Legolas had recounted his early memories of Caleil. How must it feel to lose your most beloved companion to corruption and vengeance? Aragorn knew the bitter taste of solitude, yet Legolas' solitude and loss was much greater than his.

"There is only one thing I still do not understand," said Aragorn.

"Yes?" Legolas' tone was neutral, but Aragorn saw a single tear slide gently down the elf's cheek.

"Why did you come to help me? Truthfully?"

"I suppose..." Legolas absentmindedly stroked the ground beside him; pulling out blades of grass and watching them blow away in the breeze. "I had finally found Caleil, and by being with you I was sure to come across him. You could call it a last attempt. My words were untrue; I did not care for you much at all, nor seek to protect. I wanted to save my brother. I wanted to stop the deaths, the murders he had carried out...I just wanted it to end." Legolas looked at his hands, the image of a dagger in his mind's eye, remembering the chance he had passed up; the one chance he had been given to truly end it all. "But I didn't have the courage to end it once and for all."

"If you had killed Caleil," said Aragorn quietly. "It never would have ended. It would have destroyed you; I think you have more courage than many."

Legolas looked abruptly up at Aragorn. Somehow, this man had perceived the deeper meanings of everything he had said, had understood that he had been offered the chance to kill Caleil. Somehow...

Legolas gave one last sorrowful smile and looked up at the sky. "Some things are meant to end...and some things are meant to endure forever," he said quietly.

_Whether they be cherished or resented,  
__Forever begins with a faint recollection..._

* * *

_**End Chapter 7. Hope everyone enjoyed! Please read and review. Chapter 8 coming soon!** _


	8. Chapter 8: Tempest of Shadows

_**IMPORTANT: When I originally posted this story, it was rated PG-13. The new ratings confuse me, but going by the old ones, this chapter would be boosted to at an R rating. You'll see why. **_

_**Several of my readers have told me that I never put the characters in implausible situations; which is a good thing. But this chapter does contain surrealism that acts as a foreshadow to later events and has definite meaning...it will be made clear as the story continues. **_

_**NO MORE REVIEW REPLIES! (sniffle) Fanfiction has been kicking people off for doing review replies. It's horrible! Viggomaniac, thanks for the suggestion. I just might do that. Do you guys want me to email the review replies to you? **_

_**Anyway. **_

_**Hello, it's taken me quite awhile to update (eep—sorry!), but here's Chapter 8!**_

_**Disclaimer: I wrote "The Shadow" but own none of LOTR. **_

* * *

Chapter 8: Tempest of Shadows

_It's the darkness caused by light  
__It's the hatred caused by love  
__It's the night that follows day  
__It's the hour meant to come.  
__Everything from our nightmares  
__Is coming as we cry;  
__All the things we swore to fight,  
__And we can't hold our ground  
__Because we'd rather die.  
__Because that's what a shadow is-  
__It passes, and it lingers;  
__It never lets us forget  
__That nothing is forever,  
__That everything will fall to shadow.  
__And nothing more can hold  
__To break through an age-worn wall  
__We hope we'll never know,  
__We hope we'll never feel  
__A fragile glass breaking, until all that's left is  
__Darkness, caused by light;  
__Hatred, caused by love;  
__Night, following the day...  
__The hour that the Shadow will come. _

_-Excerpt from "The Shadow"_

Dark occurrences continued to brood in the bowels of the Misty Mountains. In the underground hideout, the place where light was shut out by fire and shadow, plans were coming into reality as Caleil decided what his course of action would be. The elf's mind was too vindictive to let things go lightly or to come up with a new quarry. Once one has killed many, there is nothing left-- no life, no one and nothing worth turning to or fighting for. Only more killing can come to pass, driven by an insatiable lust for domination that would continue—in Caleil's case—for the eternity that would be his life.

It was that very thought passing through Caleil's mind as he slipped black gloves over his fair hands and draped a deep red cloak around his shoulders. _The only way to go is forward...only the world's end will be my own. _

The cavern was not silent as it so often was before important departures. Voices openly spoke, causing slight echoes to reverberate, and distantly water dripped steadily from stalagmites and stalactites. The horses whinnied and neighed as they pawed at the ground with impatience. Only those in the proximity could hear the sound of a cleaned and sharpened dagger being slid into the sheath at Caleil's side, for it was a subtle but dangerous sound. Yet it is in that way that one might define Caleil-- subtle, but deathly dangerous. It has often been found that some of the most lethal villains _are _those who do not operate openly but rather play a game where one might fall prey to a knife in the night or be betrayed by one considered a friend.

Caleil turned, his eyes piercing as he glanced at the group he had assembled. He had included members of each race he had available-- Orcs there were primarily, and Goblins in fewer number, along with a distinct minority of Elves and Men.

"Are you prepared?" he asked of them. They nodded and bowed in unison.

"Our service is yours alone, Lord Caleil," said one of the Men, his head bowed low towards the ground.

Caleil turned to the Orcs. "You serve me? What then, of the Dark Lord? Who is your true leader?"

None answered.

A sly smile crossed Caleil's face. "I suppose, then, that such will have to be proven through your performance." The smile faded as he took a step towards them, now glowering and blatantly dangerous. "Do _not _fail me. That is an order. Tell me, what are your commands?"

Ancadur raised himself boldly and brought his hand to his forehead in a salute. "We are to find the ones you seek, my lord-- Aragorn son of Arathorn, the heir of Elendil, and your younger brother, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood. It is our belief that they are in these very mountains. We will not attack immediately, but first use subtlety as you would; then rather wait until we see that some bond has been formed for an open assault. Do not be concerned, master...we are prepared for espionage. They are _not _to be killed by any means. They may be wounded, broken, marred, but not dead or too near to it. They shall be our prisoners and we are to bring them to you for justice."

"Yes," Caleil said quietly. "My justice. After all this time, it will be my reward, and my reward will be your reward. Remember—stealth first. Watch; then attack. You will be given charge of that, for only an elf can cheat another elf's senses...my brother will notice anyone else, but as an elf you have the ability to go unnoticed." In a single sweeping movement he was atop the horse that had been brought forth only moments before.

"But, my lord," Ancadur said as he looked upward at his master. "Where will you be? Not here, I take. To where do we transport the captives?"

At that moment, Caleil's eyes narrowed and it seemed that he and Ancadur were in an enclosure all their own that none others could enter. The mounted elf's voice was a whisper.

"You know where I will be...you alone know the place. That is where they must be taken as soon as everything is carried out. I will say no more." He uttered no farewell. He gave no tidings, no words of departure, only turned and led the horse out of the cavern-mouth. In his place there remained a void as a reminder of fatal duty.

_I still do not trust them, _thought Caleil to himself as he entered the narrow tunnel. _Their allegiance is not completely true and in no way completely mine. That is something that must be changed. _

At the moment, however, nothing could be done to ensure the loyalty of his followers. Caleil would have to act based on instinct. The future that lay ahead was uncertain, shaded by the mixed emotions that made Caleil at times doubt his own ambition, but he still held to the own true goal he had: to have under his power those he considered his fiercest foes, one of which was his own brother. He _would _triumph in this war of supremacy.

As Caleil emerged from the tunnel upon his black stallion, he was pleased to find the sky overcast. Though rain came to be a complication, the dark clouds preceding it served to block out the sunlight, the brightness that so contradicted everything in the fallen elf's mind. It was good fortune that conditions should be so at that particular time of day. It was still dry, but the world was dark; almost acting as an artificial night.

_Light against dark, good against evil, day against night. Never together...it is always 'against'. Only one can survive when the two clash. _

There was no denying what he was; a dark elf, fallen, the element of evil in this private fight. Yet though small it was, the job of an assassin, it would have a profound effect on future occurrences in Middle-Earth. Men could not survive without Isildur's heir...and neither could the world. However, it mattered not. By the time Aragorn was needed the Elves would be gone. Caleil cared not for the other races of Middle-Earth, and knew when everything turned to darkness he would most likely be rewarded by Sauron himself.

_I am lost to the world...and it is lost to me..._

Caleil had worked hard to forget or at least put out of his mind the fond memories he had of childhood. Times of light, and joy, and happiness...that were nonexistent. If fulfillment cannot be found, what is the meaning of living for a single taste of contentment that is instantly covered by a shadow? There was no lie in what Caleil was doing, no way to make light of how monstrous it was—he was going to kill his brother, and in doing so destroy the attachment to the life he once had. Legolas was all that existed; the only one who would bring those memories back and hinder his rise to power. He should have long ago destroyed that connection. This heinous act of fratricide would not by any means be quick, for Caleil would prefer to better assert his supremacy by adding an element of suffering. If those who had the ability to stop him died there would be no contest. Of course, the human was another matter; he would pay for the deeds of his kind.

The horse moved forward steadily, and Caleil focused on his destination. It would be the last time he went there...for it was in this place that he had the most and fondest memories, and with Legolas' death they would be erased forever, while with Aragorn's his worst memories would be avenged.

_Everything I once knew will be gone, obliterated and cast into a void beyond this world..._

_This is my final downfall. _

Caleil, elder son of Thranduil, kept his eyes on the darkening sky and the fallen road before him.

* * *

"Another tempest approaches."

Aragorn stopped walking and looked back. Legolas was peering up through the thick tree boughs at the base of the mountains, at the firmament that was over them. It was covered with heavy, dark clouds. All traces of sunlight were gone. The expanse beneath the trees and leading up to the foothills was particularly dark...but Aragorn did not mind. Darkness did not bother him; all of his life he had dwelt in the shadow of ignorance, and in the wild that same darkness had nearly consumed him as he wallowed in insecurity. Also, company was infinitely better than solitude.

Companionship, Aragorn realized, was a way to escape his brooding thoughts. He and Legolas conversed regularly now...and the ranger had revealed more than he ever thought possible. They were very near to at least some form of friendship. But friendship is determined by complete loyalty, trust, faith, and honesty. Aragorn's feelings were not yet asserted in totality. They both still had their secrets, and Legolas could be mysterious at times. They had shared their deepest troubles with one another but still could not claim total trust.

"Yes," Aragorn said in a casual response. "Sunshine precedes and follows a storm, so I figured by earlier conditions that we might have rain."

Legolas shook his head. "This is different." The elf reached out a willowy hand, and touched his fingers to nearby tree bark. Then he looked up at his companion with a mystifying glance. "Can you not feel it?

"The ground shudders, trembling ever so lightly that you may have not noticed. The trees whisper." He looked around, his eyes passing over the environment surrounding them. "Unnatural shadows are lingering all around us, Aragorn. In my mind I can feel that this is no ordinary storm...it's a warning."

"The weather does not give admonitions," Aragorn replied brusquely as he turned and continued walking.

_Elves, _he thought with a shake of his head and a slight smile. _They would see premonitions in acorns. _

Then, Legolas put a restricting hand on his arm, and Aragorn was surprised at the genuine sincerity in the elf's silver eyes. "Do not make light of this," Legolas said. "Do you not believe what we Elves believe about Arda, having been raised with my kind?"

The ranger shrugged. "I believe that the earth has its own spirit, yes...but I do not believe it mingles in the affairs of its residents. Why would it give a warning?"

"Because it can sense what is happening." Legolas' gaze grew distant again. "The earth is tainted by evil, and evil has marked it forever. This rain that draws near is a cry from the heavens. The storm that approaches is a mixture of sorrow and anger, for the dark dealings that are changing the world of which we are oblivious. Soon everything will fall to that endless night."

"Legolas, you live forever. To you soon could be hundreds of years from now."

"No. I know of what I speak. Aragorn, we must be wary. This is a tempest of shadows...there will be no stars for me to look upon tonight."

Aragorn could not turn down Legolas' earnestness. If he wanted to develop a trustworthy relationship, part of it would rely on faith and believing in what his companion said. Legolas would not lie about this.

"If you truly see an omen," he said. "Then I believe you. We will be doubly on our guard."

Legolas nodded and released Aragorn's arm. "I doubt guard can save us alone...but it is the best we can do."

* * *

For the remainder of the day, the two trudged up the mountain path. At times the trail grew steep. There were loose rocks strewn on the sandy ground, besides the formations that rose up beside them, and Aragorn felt incredibly clumsy again as he made a commotion working around those obstacles. Of course, with his skills as a ranger it would seem like fine climbing to most, but it was tumultuous compared to the impossible grace and silence with which Legolas moved.

With the storm clouds lingering in the sky as day passed to night, Legolas and Aragorn decided to seek shelter. Not wishing to seek out the cavern they have previously encountered, they looked until they came upon a relatively small cave in a nearby rock-face. In other parts of the mountains there ran small streams and brooks, but here there was no such luck, and so the companions drank from their canteens as they ate a light supper. Their rations would not be running terribly low for some time still, but eventually it would come to hunting, which Aragorn was prepared for.

They did not make a fire, for both held to the suspicion that unfriendly eyes may be watching close by. Aragorn simply found a dry area where he could lie and welcome some sleep. Legolas, who was still very mistrustful and convinced of danger, was not yet in need of rest and decided to keep watch instead.

"Do you think that Caleil could be bringing about some of this?" asked Aragorn as he settled himself on the ground. "What do you think is his part?"

Legolas sighed as he leaned against the wall of the cave opening, gazing out at the unwavering cloud cover. They had not yet heard the crack of thunder, nor seen a flash of lightning.

"Unfortunately, his role in all of this is profound. We have not seen the last of him, and will not for quite some time." Legolas glanced over his shoulder at where Aragorn lay. "He is coming for us, Aragorn, and he is a deadly foe. He was always cunning of mind."

Aragorn returned a determined stare. "Once you are in Mirkwood and I am in Rohan, he will not be able to touch us. We have only to remain vigilant." Legolas turned away without another word, and Aragorn shut his eyes, welcoming sleep.

And as the night sky fell to pitch black, a tear slid down Legolas' cheek...

* * *

Though for Legolas the night brought grief, it brought worse things for his sleeping companion.

Aragorn promptly found himself in the unbelievable reality of an ominous nightmare. There was no slow transition from the living world to that of sleep...the universe seemed turned upside down in an instant. The first thing he noted, or rather that pierced his sensation so profoundly and quickly that it was impossible to ignore, was the pain; the utterly agonizing pain that reached out to every part of his body with daggers of ice. He instinctively opened his eyes wide—partially out of the shock.

He was lying on his back against a dirt ground with the loose rocks in it digging into his back, and he was facing upwards with his arms stretched outwards to an unnatural and painful extent. Torn trousers clung to his legs but he was bare-chested. Aragorn looked forward and down with distorted vision that never really cleared, and saw that his exposed torso was drenched with blood that also soaked the dirt; the areas of skin that were yet unscarred reflected beads of sweat. So that was the source of the pain. He was horrified by the wounds, and stared at them with wide eyes...there were shallow cuts, and deeper ones, and then some areas where the skin had been completely torn from his body. Every time his chest heaved for a breath there was a torturous pain as the blood gushed forth anew and ran down his sides until the ground consumed it. He saw a flash of white and realized that a bone from his rib cage protruded through the torn flesh, while lower, one wound went so deep that to Aragorn's horror, he glimpsed his innards, and promptly turned away. Everything felt as through it were being ripped apart from the inside. He shut his eyes...but the futile attempt could do nothing to shut out the world. Through the blackness of his lids red light shone through.

_I'm dying...Oh Valar, my body has been destroyed..._

Aragorn tried to scream, but nothing came. His vocal chords felt strained and were not exempt to the pain...he could make no sound.

Around him, there were two things: night and fire. Relentless flames rose up from the dirt high into the pitch-black sky without any apparent source; a sweeping labyrinth of blinding, warm-hued light against oblivion. Aragorn could feel the heat on his face, and a wave of panic and nausea swept through him as he realized that he could not move his body...for the fires were moving closer. Some unseen force bound him to the ground in this vulnerable position. His arms were stretched so taut that the bones and muscles ached prominently, but the pain and an invisible form of bondage prevented him from pulling them in. The inferno was closing in. Aragorn tried to blink the blood and sweat from his eyes, and repeatedly attempted to cry out.

Again, there was only the sound of the fire...

A swift shadow approached. Aragorn kept his eyes shut tight, praying to not see the source of this indescribable anguish. _If it's coming, just let it kill me, please..._

Aragorn tried to scream again when he felt something sharp rake his closed eyelids, the blood seeping into his eyes and stinging, until he was forced to open his eyes and gaze upon his attacker.

But there was no attacker...what Aragorn saw he was completely unprepared for, and his confusion was secondary only to the pain.

There but a single dove. Its coarse feathers had apparently once been white, but were now covered in both dried and fresh blood, to such an extent that its wing movements and flying were erratic. Aragorn glanced at the small, sharp talons that had pried his eyes open. The deceiving creature spread its wings and stared at him.

Another onslaught of horror and bewilderment struck Aragorn upon seeing its head. Where eyes should have been in the center, there were only empty, dead sockets where the eyeballs had been gouged out. Blood poured from them continually. Yet it stared with them...it kept those sockets fixed on Aragorn, looking straight at him, _through _him, and into his very soul. The trepidation that Aragorn felt towards it would seem to most completely ungrounded, but there was something about its persona, the very feeling of fallen menace that radiated from it, that put dread into his heart and soul and mind. It somehow had significant potential to be dangerous.

_Let it end, just let it end...For the love of Illúvatar...Help me, I've never been this terrified..._

In a way, the fear cut almost deeper than the physical pain. The fear alone could have killed him. Never in his life could he have imagined such an intense terror...or had he?

It was at that moment that Aragorn, perplexed and now even more afraid, came to the realization that he didn't know who he was, or how he had come to be here. He wracked his mind for memories but found none to reveal his identity. Everything was dominated by the torture that was overcoming his body.

The dove stepped back onto his chest, making the piercing pain rush through him again with its knife-life, minute talons. Aragorn wanted nothing more than to strike the vile creature dead where it stood.

Then, everything changed with a roll of thunder. The sky flashed with blinding lightning, and immediately after the dove flew away with a sharp exclamation and irregular flurry of wings. Immediately, rain began—as a light drizzle at first, then intensifying into an unbelievable downpour. Every drop stung like burning acid when it hit his injuries...and, to Aragorn's surprise, when he opened his mouth and called upon his vocal cords this time, a grisly and deathly scream was torn from his throat, so strong that it rose over the sound of the storm...

'_Aragorn! ARAGORN!'_

The voice was so distant, and was lost in the sound of the thundering tempest as the rainfall began to douse the fires and send up gesticulations of smoke. The name seemed so unfamiliar...yet he felt that he should know it.

As it collected on the ground, the blood began to wash away, but the agony lingered...and a far-off memory returned to Aragorn, of rain mingling with and washing away blood during a storm, as a head fell to the ground following the slash of a sword.

_Death to the enemy. You have become my enemy..._

_Táridil. _

The memory of Táridil's execution came rushing back, but only that memory.

_I am Strider, a ranger, an exile...that's who I am..._

_But why, why am I here? Why is this happening?_

_Please, please...I just want to die..._

The entire time, Aragorn could not stop screaming; in fact, he hardly realized in the end that he was doing it. The effort of screaming came so naturally that it was pushed into his subconscious. His body glistened with sweat, and his head lolled to the side as he convulsed due to the intensity and the agonized passion.

Then, he felt a thud on his chest—even the small impact triggered the pain. Looking down for a moment through blurred vision, saw the small figure of the dove lying there, looking up at him again with the face of death, completely destroyed with any life that had been in it gone. Its body was horrifically mutilated, and on top of the blood its feathers had been singed by the dying blaze so that they were now tipped with black.

'_ARAGORN!'_

Táridil, Finhîr, the Rangers...he remembered his past as a wildling executioner...

Aragorn shut his eyes, welcoming the feeling of the pain growing more distant as death came to him, the same as it had come to the diminutive creature he had feared.

'_ARAGORN!'_

_

* * *

_

A sharp kick in the ribs was what slammed Aragorn back to reality. The dream world reeled away from him as rapidly as it had come, until his eyes snapped open and he found himself staring up into a fair face that reflected horror like his own. He could not even take in the environs immediately.

Automatically, his throat hoarse and pained from screaming, Aragorn yanked a knife from his belt. The unrecognized had to be a threat, after all. The elf over him leapt back nimbly as they both rose to their feet in the darkness of a small cave.

"Aragorn!" said the elf, stepping back further and putting his hands up in recognition of surrender. "Aragorn, please, it's me. Calm yourself!"

"_Who are you!"_ Aragorn yelled frantically. "_What are you trying to do to me!"_ He looked down, seeing that there was still some blood on his hands...

But nowhere else?

In surprise, he paused and dropped the knife. He was covered in a hunting tunic. He ran his hand over his chest, feeling only a dull ache but noting no blood. The sweat on his face was familiar as the cold sweat of fear.

"It's me—Legolas," the elf said pleadingly. Aragorn noticed that his opponent had drawn his own blade. "And you are Aragorn...Listen to me. Do not make me do something I will regret."

"But I'm Strider," he said, looking at Legolas in utter confusion. "I'm Strider, a ranger..."

"No." Legolas took a tentative step forward, and continued until they were less than a foot apart. He dropped his own dagger and put his hands on Aragorn's shoulders, until they faced one another squarely. "You are Aragorn, and I am Legolas. It was a dream, Aragorn, only a dream. Do you not remember? We are on our way to Rohan, from Rivendell. We went about a matter concerning Orc activity here in the Misty Mountains. Caleil attacked me there...do you remember Caleil?" As if trying desperately to search for a memory that Aragorn would recall, Legolas hesitated before speaking again. "You must remember your beloved...Aragorn, think of Arwen!"

For a few more moments, all Aragorn could see was the intense light of the fire, and all he could remember was the ferocity of the pain that the vicious wounds had produced, the wounds that were no longer there. They had been so real but now they were simply nonexistent. Then, slowly, upon hearing the name of the one he had given his heart to, everything starting coming back...his entire life returned to his memory slowly, and as he remembered, Aragorn fell back against the wall, sinking to the ground. Legolas immediately knelt beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Legolas..." Aragorn whispered, looking at his Elven companion with a grief-stricken and alarmed gaze. "Valar, it was so real, you cannot imagine..."

"It must have been. You were screaming, Aragorn, like I have never heard anyone scream." Through Legolas' hand on his shoulder, the ranger could feel the shiver that ran through his comrade upon recalling those screams.

Aragorn looked down, and faced his palms upward for Legolas to see. "There's blood on my hands. It was all over me before."

"It's your blood...it isn't much. You drew it while clawing at your face, at your chest, everywhere. You were having convulsions too. Aragorn, I was terrified...I thought you were dying and nothing I did could reach you. You finally awoke after I kicked you. What happened?"

Aragorn shook his head in disbelief. "Was it all a dream?"

Grimly, Legolas nodded. "Yes, Aragorn. It was a nightmare."

"But it was so real!" Aragorn realized that his breathing was harsh, and there were tears streaming openly down his face. "The pain...everything was so real, it could not have been a dream." He focused on Legolas' eyes, trying to clear his mind.

Legolas furrowed his brow, thinking for a moment. "Maybe...because of your ties to Numenor, it's possible that you have some foresight..."

Some of the terror returned to Aragorn's gaze. Legolas stepped back, surprised at the wild look so different from the reserved man he knew. "If that was foresight, Legolas, spare me and kill me now."

Legolas' voice became nothing more than a frightened whisper. "What was it, Aragorn? What happened?"

A rush of cold air swept through the cave, and the two felt their hair stand on end, a tingling sensation rushing into their bodies so that they shivered in the mid of the night.

The ranger leaned his head against the rough wall, letting the tears fall...it felt so good to cry. "It will have to be some time before I'm able to tell you. I know not what it could have possibly meant; but it definitely meant something." His eyes drifted out and up to the dark sky, to the clouds and the storm that drew ever nearer. Distantly, thunder gave a low and treacherous rumble. _A sightless dove, white feathers tainted with blood, given life by the fire and death by the rain..._"But I _can _tell you this.

"It was another warning. The storm was part of it; you were right in seeing it as a fatal omen. Legolas, this tempest, this shadow is upon us now, and there will be no turning back. If we let ourselves fall into the trap of those who seek to destroy us, there will be no escape. We will have to fight, and regardless of whether we do or not, I know that someone is going to die. What we face is a battle of fire and lightning that will turn into something more, something that could determine the fate of the world.

"The hour is coming; the shadow of betrayal and suffering grows. And Legolas..." Aragorn's mind drifted back to all the animals he had hunted as a predator, the creatures that he had killed for survival. _We prey on the weak for our own survival...but what if someone did it not for continued existence, but for to satisfy twisted desire?_

"I am just now realizing just how terrifying it is to be the prey."

* * *

**_Okee dokee! For the first time (tear) no review replies. Hope everyone liked the chapter and keeps reading! Namarie for now; Maethril Aranel_**

_**Please R & R!**_


	9. Chapter 9: Immortal Deeds

**_You guys: I am so, so sorry for the late update! There was a good reason for it, and that is my own irresponsibility in a certain matter. Wait, that's not a good reason. Anyway. I hope you forgive me and that it's worth the wait! (Legolas: I found it!) _**

**_In the section of the profile called 'Story Info', whenever I update, I will post a small summary of the upcoming chapter if you want a hint as to what's next in the fic. There is a small preview of Chapter 10 in that section right now. _**

_**I present to you Chapter 9. **_

**_Disclaimer: Iay on'tday wnoay OTRLay, roay hetay uoteqay Iay seduay niay hetay ummarysay noay hetay iobay agepay. (Yay, Pig Latin!)_**

**_Claimer: I like claimers better than disclaimers. The only thing I own here are the four poetry stanzas (2 at the beginning and 2 at the end), which are part of a poem currently entitled POEM. If anyone likes it and has ideas for an actual title please tell!_**

* * *

Chapter 9: Immortal Deeds

_With differences in what seems  
__And what's truly buried in time  
__Either could be but a dream  
__That gleam in a treacherous eye;  
__Now there can be no healing  
__Nor the love of joyous feeling  
__Nor that light that has us kneeling  
__As in a whisper it passes by. _

_For what cannot be forgotten  
__The long unsettled score  
__For those memories begotten  
__From wanting something more;  
__Every color blends to black  
__By the haunting of the past  
__In focusing on what we lack  
__There passes the open door._

She sat in a meditative silence, graceful hands folded together on her lap as she gazed down at them. A light breeze reached the area where she was situated on the open pavilion and passed gently through her long waves of dark hair. Her downcast eyes blinked slowly to keep back waiting tears. Rays of sunlight illuminated the beauty of her flawless face.

Elrond sighed, leaning a hand against the pillar of white stone nearest to him, feeling the flowing design beneath his fingers. He tore his eyes away from his daughter—he could not bear to see her in this state.

"Arwen," he said quietly. "Why do you blame me for this?"

She looked up at him, anger concealed beneath sorrow in her sapphire eyes. "It is you who forbade that which I desire most. Why can you not accept that I love him? It is you who are placing blame-- on Aragorn. You blame him for my choice to live a mortal life. And now, after such a brief stay, he has left again, because he is no longer welcome in his own home."

_You blame him for my choice to live a mortal life. _The words stung, penetrating the defenses of Elrond's heart as he looked back at his beloved daughter. Inside the only thing he felt was sadness. Not anger towards her, or Aragorn, because the Valar knew that he had raised that man as his own son, but sadness laden with denial because their love would be the death of her.

"I should never have kept him here," Elrond said.

"You say that because you wish he had never come into my life!"

He hesitated a moment before answering. "That is not why I say it. Here, Aragorn was sheltered, and grew up in the peace and security that our own young ones know. His parents' past and the burden of his own future were never bestowed on him. Now that they have been, he has a weight on his shoulders that he is not prepared for. How can be become a ruler of Men? His inner turmoil is becoming too much for him to bear. Ever since I told him, Aragorn has been unsure, and insecure about all the things that face him. Yet without his leadership the world of Men will come crashing down...giving Middle-Earth a bleak future."

Arwen stood, her long scarlet dress flowing lightly on the floor. "You give him no encouragement in trying to take away the one thing he _is _sure of—my love for him. You will never be able to change how I feel, Ada." Then she turned and left the pavilion, running down the white steps and eventually turning into a hallway where she was no longer in his sight. Elrond was left feeling dreadfully alone. In trying to save her life, was he forsaking his daughter's love? He turned back and looked out over the view of Imladris, trying for a moment to not think about the relationship between Arwen and Aragorn and rather concentrate on the other problems that had been burdening his mind. Beneath him the picture of joy and happiness seemed only a mockery of the darkness that haunted him.

The visit of Legolas and Aragorn had troubled him greatly. At first, he had not thought much of their report of an Orc encampment, but now he was beginning to realize just how peculiar it was that the servants of the Dark Lord should seek refuge in the mountain chain. The Misty Mountains were, after all, among the most common for travel because of their location. Many from Gondor, Mirkwood, Rohan, and other places to the east used the mountains for westward commute, yet none had noticed any Orc activity in any part of them for years, not since dark ages. Surely they would have been sighted at some point if they had been there recently. It seemed unnatural...

Elrond's mind flashed back to a written report he had gotten a few months back, a seemingly unimportant one that he had discarded. He normally received such reports concerning common trade routes from King Thranduil and other leaders that regularly used the mountains as a means of transportation for trading supplies.

_Trade activity falling in the Misty Mountains; travel in the area has been unusually low this season. Travelers unwilling to use mountain paths due to recent disappearances. Other routes for needed supplies are being considered-- trade items should still arrive at their scheduled time. _

Could there be some connection? Elrond furrowed his brow and shut his eyes in concentration, picturing the worst of scenarios that could have been responsible for the disappearance of travelers. All this time, he and Gandalf, with the aid of some influential leaders they were on good terms with, had been looking into the rumors of shadows growing in Mordor; the rumors that the One Ring had been found and that Sauron planned to make a comeback on Middle-Earth. In the next few years they would most certainly be more vulnerable to attack with the mass movements of Elves sailing to Valinor and the poor leadership in Gondor and Rohan. He hoped desperately that the message he had dispatched to Gandalf would reach the Istar soon enough—they were among the scarce few that knew anything of Sauron's threat.

_Have we been looking in the wrong places? Could the first stage of the attack be right before our eyes, and we have failed to notice it? _

He had also found it peculiar that the paths of Legolas and Aragorn had crossed. He had known Thranduil's younger son since his birth, and of course had raised Aragorn himself, so he knew how different the two were—not truly in character, for their caring dispositions did not differ much, but they held distinctively different views. To Elrond's chagrin, Thranduil had always instilled in his sons, Caleil and Legolas, a strong distrust of Men and other races; though out of the two Legolas had always been the kinder and more open. After Caleil's death a few years back, Elrond knew that Legolas bore even less of a liking towards Men, for they had betrayed and killed the one he loved most in the world. It was very strange indeed that the two should come to travel together. Several times during their meeting, he had noticed the way the two had looked at one another, as though one or both hid some of the truth from him.

He _had _to know the whole truth. Middle-Earth was in grave danger if Sauron's minions were beginning to come out of their refuges, and despite the bitterness Elrond had felt towards his foster-son recently, he could not help but be concerned for his safety.

_If only time would not pass as it does, with grave problems arising all at once. If only we could remain forever in our greatest moments of bliss. _

For Elrond, his happiest moments had been when his children were but elflings, when the twins were young and he had started to raise the human boy Estel. He could still hear their laughter ringing throughout the corridors of Rivendell as they plotted their latest mischief. His treasured daughter had been safe, spending most of her time in Lothlórien but always sparing moments to come and visit her father. There had been a period of a few years when things had been prosperous, when this imminent shadow had not loomed over them, when he had been able to take a few moments in the day to savor the feeling of sunlight and the sight of beauty. But an elf knew better than any about the passing of time.

_To live forever...an Elf's greatest blessing, and their greatest curse. _

For some reason, as he was thinking about the most joyous moments in his life, he knew with sadness in his heart that the most memorable time in his daughter's life was probably the first time Aragorn had held her in his arms.

Elrond tried to keep back his own tears as he realized that he could no longer protect those he loved from their own decisions.

* * *

In being in a place one is familiar with, there is often a sense of knowing, a sense of security. In such a place you know what to expect. Every turn is recognizable, every touch, and every moment is one more passed in confidence rather than confusion. One can usually think more clearly in a familiar environment. They can find assurance in their memories there. 

With Caleil, it was not so.

He knew every plant, every marking. Time, however, was beginning to wear down this place, so scarcely visited as it was, and it was of course seeing the same decay and corruption as the rest of Mirkwood. When he ran his hand over scarce growth of grass or on the damp wood of those trees near the small brook, there was nothing foreign to him. The breeze touched his skin as it had so many times before. It had been so long, though, that the touch that once brought comfort now felt empty and hollow.

Caleil could not close his mind to the barrage of memories that came with his surroundings. He looked at the way the stream cascaded over a collection of rocks to form a small waterfall, and remembered the taste of the cool water touching his lips. He ran his hands over the age-worn, crumbling wooden walls that formed a vast enclosure, remembering how he and Legolas had spent hours making their place what it was...

The area, long ago, had been a small habitation of Men on the eastern rim of Mirkwood. The dwellings had been abandoned and eventually all remnants of the place had been destroyed. However, in their younger years when Mirkwood had still been a place of beauty, Caleil and Legolas had come across the wooden walls and foundation of what appeared to have been some sort of encampment. The area contained within the falling walls was immense. Together, they had decided to make it their own place, and fortified the ramparts until it became a secure area. A friend of theirs, a silversmith, had even fashioned a special lock on the main set of double doors—a lock with a special combination that only Caleil and Legolas knew.

There had not been much within, and the brothers had gotten rid of remnants of housing and planted trees and other foliage. A rivulet ran through it, which provided a refreshing place to rest and fresh water to drink at any time. Now that water had darkened to a grotesquely opaque shade. The trees were bent, twisting in unnatural shapes with dying leaves hanging down limply overhead, whilst the ground underfoot was mainly dirt where there had once grown grass. The wood of the walls and of the tree bark was beginning to rot...insects weaved in and out through the holes that had been formed as part of the disintegration.

No one had been here in years. It had been the special place of the king's sons. No one would touch it...

Or suspect any malicious dealings that went on there.

To concentrate on his task, Caleil had to constantly remind himself that these memories could only make him soft, and hinder his rise to power. This was the perfect place. Here, in a remote area of the forest where few ever ventured, in an enclosure that no elf of Mirkwood would enter, he could carry out his executions and see to justice. Even the screams of his victims wouldn't be able to reach the nearest habitants. Thranduil's dwellings were miles away, in another part of the forest's expanse, and elves on patrol did not venture here, for the darkness of Dol Guldur tainted it and brought them danger. Caleil did not have to worry about Orcs—he was, after all, in league with them. He would bring his captives here and destroy all traces of their existence. Then, after it was finished, he need not return here again. Legolas would be gone. He would set the walls ablaze and the place would be gone...

His former life would be gone, nothing more than another scar from the past. He could become an ally to Sauron—not servant, ally—without anything standing in his way. Those memories would never haunt him or make him doubt himself again. Caleil used the heel of his boot to crush a small, growing flower into the ground; the only vegetation growing anywhere within sight, growing in the middle of a small tuft of pale grass that stood alone. Soon the very earth he stood upon would be tainted with blood...and then it would be gone. Forever.

Perhaps it was a side effect of this fall from grace, but a rush of cold air penetrated Caleil more than it ever had before, and he could feel the bitter touch of ice throughout his entire being. The person he once was would have wept for the loss of purity.

* * *

Legolas looked from his position on the summit to the downwards slope of the mountain trail. Two more days had it taken for them to reach this point; two days in which he had kept diligent and unyielding watch, due to the threat that he could feel lying in wait just beyond his reach. Now that they had made it up to the highest point on this particular mountain they had climbed the first hurdle—but the danger was no less daunting. Legolas felt that even if he made it back to Mirkwood, he would not find peace and tranquility in his mind...after all, once back in Mirkwood, he would have to explain his absence, something he did not look forward to, and still live with the fact of Caleil's downfall. It was something he would have to accept sooner or later. 

_But my heart will never be able to bear the reality of it. _

A sudden foul odor reached him. Legolas abruptly turned his head from where he was situated atop a boulder, watching curls of gray smoke rise in the air. His first thought was of peril. All of his senses heightened, and for a brief second his eyes searched for the source, until they rested on Aragorn.

The ranger was seated on another boulder, just across from his companion. Legolas choked back the urge to gag as the disgusting exhaust of Aragorn's pipe filled his nostrils.

"A vile habit," he said, trying to ignore the smoke as he concentrated once more on the mountain trail.

For the first time since the vicious nightmare, Aragorn smiled sincerely, and then took the pipe from his lips as he laughed. "I never was one for smoking before I went into the wild. Elves do not think highly of it...at least most." He exhaled, drawing it out provocatively and aiming the fumes in Legolas' direction. The elf blinked and pretended to ignore it again.

"I count myself among that majority. It pollutes the sanctity of fresh air and clouds the senses."

"I actually find it quite relaxing."

Legolas sighed. He still had much to learn about Men.

"We should be able to be well down the mountain by tomorrow if we leave soon," the elf finally said, descending from the large stone and walking casually over to where Aragorn sat. He soon took a seat himself, behind the ranger so that the two were back to back, leaning against each other.

"The sooner, the better," Aragorn replied. He stopped smoking, laying his pipe to the side and exhaling one last plume of smoke. "Do you still sense danger?"

"There is always danger. But someone is near now who wasn't near before."

"How can you tell?"

"The way they feel in my mind." Then, surprisingly, Legolas grinned, inclining his head slightly to cast a look over his shoulder. "Also, I heard this one. The person following us is of your race, obviously." He only laughed when Aragorn frowned and shoved him onto the ground.

"How soon do think it will be until he reaches us?"

"Tonight, unless we make a fast pace down the mountain," said Legolas as he went and reclaimed his place on their rock. "But we are not going to continue today."

Aragorn shot Legolas a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"You need to rest."

The ranger looked away, not wanting Legolas to look again at the dark rings around his eyes that had formed from lack of sleep and the way he kept blinking away weariness. "No. Believe me, I am well-rested."

"Aragorn. Do you not think I can tell when you are truly asleep and when you are only pretending? There is no shame in fearing dreams after what you experienced."

There weren't many things that Aragorn feared. Before this, the only thing he had truly been afraid of was the possibility of losing Arwen's love; and of course he feared harm coming to her or to any others he loved. But the dream had awoken in him an unspeakable terror. He did not know what exactly had triggered that fear.

_Perhaps it amounted from my absence of fear in the past. _

"It seems I cannot fool you," Aragorn said with an emotionless smile. Then a curious gleam grew in his eye as he turned to Legolas. "How _do _you notice the difference, anyway?"

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "You talk in your sleep. You didn't know?"

"I do not talk in my sleep."

"Yes, you do. And I have never heard stranger ramblings. When you do not, either something is wrong, or you're pretending."

Aragorn sighed. "It will never be easy to deceive an elf."

Legolas merely nodded, a small smile touching his lips. The conversation ceased for awhile. Distantly, Legolas could hear someone climbing up to their position, though the tracker would not reach them for some hours yet.

"Legolas, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Aragorn hesitated briefly before continuing. "No elf has ever given me a straight answer before. They always avoid the subject. Legolas, what is it like to live forever?"

Legolas watched as the soft wind passed through the petals of some wildflowers growing nearby. _There can be no straight answer..._

"It is like the two halves of the moon," he finally said, his voice quiet and bearing the experience of thousands of years. "In a way it can be considered a blessing—the half-moon that is illuminated. We do not know the frailty of old age. Only we can say that we were there to witness all the subtle changes of the earth. An elf has memories of beauty that many can only imagine, and also of dark times when we have had to stand our ground. Over so many years, you become at one with the earth and it with you; you can sense things that others cannot, you can know things that others cannot. In that way, it can be such a wonderful thing, and one can gain immeasurable stores of wisdom. All creatures of the earth can speak to you, and even the environment surrounding them speaks to you in ways that only an elf understands.

"But there is still the dark side of immortality. Memories last forever—and those things I wish to let go of are things that will always linger in my mind. I grow weary of tears and laughter overlapping, of bearing the haunted past and looking at the upcoming with uncertainty. I am tired of days and of hours that pass so slowly. I watch the buds of barren flowers die and wonder what will become of the world, yet know that I will still be here to watch that future come to pass even if I would wish it otherwise. Never will I truly sleep...not in that eternal rest. If you live forever, what is one moment of happiness? Mortals can cherish those moments more, I suppose, because they know that every breath of life is worth living with death being a certain part of the future...though I am sure you can elaborate for me on the subject of how mortals view life and death.

"That is why we leave—weariness. We grow tired of the pattern that binds the world; of short-lasting peace and drawn out years of suffering. Sadness weighs heavy on our hearts to watch everything around us die while we continue, to see the changes that finally lead to death and know that we will never change."

Aragorn did not answer for some time. Rather, he watched in silence the same flower that Legolas had been watching only moments before, yet realized with what different perspectives they viewed it. To him, all things living, plants and animals and such, were temporary as was he; they were alike. Death was a part of life. For Legolas, dying was not something certain. A flower to him was just another thing that would pass with time, that same time that could never change him or bring him closer to the end. There was no end.

The thought of life being a never-ending continuum was unnerving, if not frightening.

"_To live forever...an Elf's greatest blessing, and their greatest curse," _Aragorn said, echoing words that Elrond had said to him long ago. Then he locked eyes with Legolas again. "But you are wrong about one thing, Legolas. It may seem to you that you never change. Yet I have seen change in you from when I met you to now. Though your appearance may stay the same, the spirit will always grow."

Legolas thought of Caleil. _Sometimes, an ill-fated road will lead that same changing spirit to death...even while on the outside we stay the same. _

"There could be no truer words," the elf said, his voice bearing sorrow as he solidly held Aragorn's gaze. "But in the end, whether or not we die, it is what we have done for others and the world that truly defines us as immortal."

* * *

Day turned to night again—the same cycle that will be repeated unto the end of time. Aragorn was lying on his back under the open night sky, looking at the stars that Legolas loved so much. 

_There are light against the darkness. The stars offer hope. That is why he looks to them during these trying times..._

Yet the storm clouds of the tempest still grew and covered some of the sky, blocking that light.

"Sleep, Aragorn. You need it."

Sooner or later, he would have to face dreams. Not all dreams were nightmares, after all.

"All right," he said quietly. He shut his eyes, knowing despite the reluctance that his body needed rest. _"Hannen-le, _Legolas," he said quietly. Without his Elven companion there, he would not have been able to take this chance to rest, and found himself grateful.

It was the first time he had ever spoken in Elvish to Legolas. The elf seemed a bit startled at first, but then offered an amiable half-smile as he turned towards the night that he would, again, watch carefully lest it birth something that might prove unfriendly. _"Idh mae, _Aragorn."

Aragorn slept heavily that night, in a world without dreams.

Meanwhile, Legolas kept watch as usual through the passing night until dawn was but a few hours away. The man in the shadows was approaching. There were more, farther away, but not many. Somehow he did not think this person was an immediate threat simply because he knew that it was no Orc or some other dark creature of Sauron's. Nevertheless, his mind told him to be wary, and he notched his arrow as he saw the figure approach.

Finally, he stepped out into the moonlight.

The man was rugged, with a dark beard growing under his intense gray eyes. His hair was unkempt and filthy. His clothes were much as Aragorn's—covered with dirt among some unidentifiable grime, and torn in places while being incredibly worn in orders. He walked with surprising stealth; for a man. His large, mud-encrusted boots did not seem the kind to allow stealth. A crude sword hung in a scabbard at his side. Legolas could tell that there were smaller knives concealed in his boots and shirt sleeves.

He was familiar. Legolas knew that he had seen this man before somewhere and eased the tension on his bow as the intruder raised his hands in surrender.

"Peace. Do not attack me. I only come in search of a friend." He looked to where Aragorn lay in a trance-like sleep, not too far. "It seems I came to the right place." There was a slight tremor in his voice, but Legolas chose to ignore it.

"You claim friendship with Aragorn. Who are you?"

The man looked puzzled. "I am Finhîr. I claim friendship with Strider, who traveled with me and our fellow Rangers for some time and then deserted us. I also seek out my brothers when they leave without notifying any. Also, I would ask your identity too; it would only be courteous."

"I am Legolas Thranduilion of Mirkwood," he said as he eased the arrow completely and began to lower his bow.

So that was where he had seen him. While watching Aragorn at the very beginning, hidden in the treetops, Legolas had seen this Finhîr among the Rangers. He lowered his bow completely yet kept it near and at ready. Obviously, this man knew Aragorn simply as Strider. The elf realized that he had made a mistake in mentioning Aragorn's true name...but what had been spoken could not be revoked now.

"I will wake him," Legolas said. Watching Finhîr out of the corner of his eye, he walked over to where Aragorn laid, the light of the moon casting the shadow of the boulder he slept by over him. Legolas bent soundlessly and gave his companion a gentle shake. "We have a visitor...Strider. He is here to see you."

Aragorn lifted his heavy lids and blinked several times before looking up at Legolas, taking in the elf's meaningful gaze and serious expression. Then he turned to see Finhîr standing nearby.

As Aragorn stood, the loose dirt on the ground clung to his garments, and he brushed it away. A sliver of light illuminated his gray-green eyes. With a hand resting casually yet cautiously on the hilt of his hunting dagger, Aragorn walked over to where his fellow Ranger stood.

"Finhîr," he said bluntly. Yet Legolas could see the mild surprise in his eyes. "I did not expect to see you again."

"Nor I you, brother." Finhîr's tone was amiable as he took a few steps forward. "We were surprised and frightened by your desertion."

"It was not desertion. I had other things to see to, other places to go. The wilds were no longer a place for me."

"Nevertheless, you left us, Strider, and I was concerned." He cast his eyes in Legolas' direction, regarding the elf with curiosity. "Where do you and Legolas purpose to go?"

"I am headed for a small town on the outskirts of Gondor, where some I call friends await me. Legolas is going to his homeland. We are accompanying each other over the mountains, seeing as it is our common road." Legolas knew that Aragorn must have a good reason for lying about his destination. He let his face betray no emotion.

Aragorn continued, maintaining an authoritative and suspicious air while keeping his voice neutral. "Why have you come, Finhîr?"

"I always seek out my brothers when they leave me."

"I happen to know that to be a lie. Again, I ask: why have you come?"

Finhîr hesitated for a moment, and a strange expression flashed briefly in his eyes. Then he bent, pressing one knee against the dirt ground and bowing low.

"My allegiance is to the King of Gondor."

Legolas looked over at Aragorn. His companion stood unblinkingly; then turned away, mumbling for Finhîr to rise. They were positioned less than a foot apart.

As Finhîr stood, he balled his hands into the pockets at his side, and Legolas felt his heart skip a beat with some wordless warning at the flicker of reluctant malice that crossed the ranger's eyes. His keen ears picked up two sounds—one of coins, jingling as they pressed against one another in a closed fist, and one of steel brushing against leather.

Instantly, Legolas whipped an arrow from his quiver.

"_ARAGORN!" _

But Aragorn had already turned, sensing betrayal in his own mind. With reflexes quicker than Legolas would have imagined, he blocked Finhîr's dagger with his own. In a split second Legolas had loosed the arrow. The feathers of the fletching whistling ever so slightly as they cut through the air of the silent night, the arrow found its target deep in Finhîr's throat. The man's eyes went wide and a mixture of red blood, almost black in the night, and white foam bubbled from his mouth. A small river of blood poured from the area where the arrow had penetrated and ran over it, tainting its wooden length and then dripping steadily onto the ground.

There was the thud of dead weight hitting the ground as Finhîr fell, now nothing more than a corpse.

"_Guth enín goth," _Aragorn whispered, bowing his head. His dark, lank hair covered the emotion in his eyes, but Legolas could almost feel the sadness radiating from him. This was the side of Aragorn he had first seen—reluctant executioner. He walked over, putting a comforting hand on Aragorn's shoulder, but said no words, for at this time, words were not needed.

"It seems strange. Finhîr was strong at heart; I did not think he would be the type to fall by such superficial means. He was never truly my friend, I suppose...just another who fell to temptation," continued the ranger after for a few moments regarding Finhîr's body, quietly sliding his dagger back into its small sheath.

Legolas paused a moment before answering. "At least, standing beside you, you have one friend who won't turn away?"

Aragorn looked over at him, the expression in his eyes one of a relieving gratitude overcoming sorrow. "Yes, I do..._mellon-nin._"

They shared a brief, understanding smile. Then both looked down at some small objects glinting in the moonlight, for from Finhîr's pocket had fallen the golden coins of many fallacies that had been given to him by Ancadur as the price for treachery. For far off, as part of the warning that still lingered in Legolas' mind, Caleil's minion was watching the assassination that he had known would fail. But in the moments after Finhîr had died, Ancadur's lips had parted into a fateful smile, breaking the emotionless mask of stone he had worn throughout the process...for words of friendship that Legolas and Aragorn had spoken had been carried to him by the wind.

_We will wait until some bond has been formed..._

Ancadur crept down from the tree in which he was stationed. The time was near at hand. In the distance, Finhîr's open, glassy eyes stared upwards in death at the looming storm-clouds that hid the pallid face of the moon.

_The limit of all that's mortal  
__Is the death that ends its stay  
__And closes the unseen portal  
__That over time has sway;  
__The false tears fall in mourning  
__For what we took joy in ignoring  
__The dove killed whilst in soaring  
__Was cursed for wanting change._

_Then deeds that know not death  
__And become immortal hands  
__Surpass that final breath  
__As the memory of the man;  
__With us that greed doth die  
__To fires in endless night  
__Whilst that giving of our life  
__Is what forever stands. _

* * *

_**Hannen le: **Thank you_

_**Idh mae: **Rest well_

_**Mellon-nin: **My friend_

* * *

_**Again, I'm sorry! I hope you haven't forgotten me! Please review!**_


	10. Chapter 10: Truths of the Fallen

_**Happy Holidays to everyone! Everyone who reviewed will receive their individual replies (I actually quite like this new reply thingie). Thank you! I love you!**_

_**Disclaimer: I claim that I do not claim everything I have previously disclaimed. **_

_**Enjoy! **_

* * *

Chapter 10: Truths of the Fallen

_You search for truth  
__But cannot find it  
__You search for meaning  
__That shall never exist  
__You search for the missing  
__And misunderstood  
__You search, but you know  
__That it's all gone for good._

Silence. They needed silence.

Surprisingly enough, Ancadur had found that when the situation demanded as much, his companions could be quite soundless. There was an occasional scraping of metal or sound of shifting dirt as they changed position slightly—but not much besides, certainly not enough to be heard at a distance, even by Legolas' keen ears. That was good. Stealth was necessary at this point. Ancadur felt his heart beating quickly in anticipation to carry out the attack, for the excitement and rush of fighting was already beginning to take a hold on him, and he wanted nothing more than to feel it, to smell the blood and know the taste of victory...of invincibility.

The area in which they were situated had not before been a clearing, but it was easy enough to make it one by destroying some of the vegetation, and it was plenty large enough for all of them to fit comfortably. There were, in Ancadur's group, a total of seven Orcs, five Goblins, two Men and two Elves—himself and another by the name of Firith, a name that meant _Fading _in their tongue. The number assembled, therefore, was not by any means particularly large, but it was certainly enough to take as prisoner a single Man and Elf. Their vicinity was located beneath the looming shadow of a jagged outcropping of rock which Ancadur was leaning against. It provided them with darkness in which to remain unseen...besides the fact that the Orcs and Goblins, creatures of ominous bearing as they were, preferred to shy from the light of the sun. Ancadur had found recently that he also was being drawn more to shadow. The sun seemed harsh and unwelcome. He looked around; the piercing eyes of the others shone fatally through the gloom, with slivers of light from the setting sun that wound around the boulder occasionally falling on them and illuminating their presence, which seemed to radiate with hatred.

Their plan was not to be carried out this night; a fact that caused those gathered even more frustration. But by the next day, Legolas and Aragorn would have been out of the mountains. Ancadur knew that it was better to fight on open ground than on the enclosed, vulnerable mountain roads; they could hide on the edge of the mountain, in the small groups of trees, and attack on the stable terrain. So they would have to spend another night resting.

"It could have already been done," complained Eirin, one of the Men, who was seated on the ground to Ancadur's left and running a sharpening stone over the length of a rough dagger's blade.

"We wait," Ancadur ordered routinely.

One of the Orcs, he knew not which, growled with impatience from a far corner. "We only take orders from the master, not from you, elf scum."

"Oh, but these orders _do _come from Lord Caleil," he replied, unperturbed as he lifted dirt in his fist and watched it sift through his fingers. "Your intolerance and hurried attitudes would have led to exactly the opposite result he desired. We have waited by my word. The failed assassination proved that the two consider themselves bonded by friendship now, and Lord Caleil's orders were to hold off on the assault until they were more than acquaintances.

"We have accomplished that without yet being discovered. By being patient only a short period longer, we have come up with a strategic plan to carry out. Now, we are foolproof, which we would not have been had we rushed in extemporaneously."

A few muttered in response, but none raised any direct objection. They simply carried on with their own thoughts.

Eirin turned his gaze to Ancadur. The elf still found himself somewhat disgusted at the sight of the man; fading light elucidated his features, which included a shaggy mat of hair that fell into his avaricious black eyes and skin layered with dirt and grime. When those cracked lips parted into a smile almost more threatening than a scowl, they revealed rows of grotesquely rotted teeth. "Foolhardy traitors, those two rangers were," he said contemptuously. "I heard all it took was a few coins to bring out their black hearts. No better than us, eh?"

Ancadur grimaced at the man, who was not one to speak of traitors or black hearts. Eirin was a person plagued by insanity, and had butchered his entire family in a moment of profound ire. It was that action, after several less serious, that had brought him to Caleil, who particularly sought out this kind of madman.

"Have you learned nothing?" Ancadur spat. "If those men were as low as you, they'd have been with us a long time ago.

"Cowardice and betrayal can be induced by temptation, fear, lunacy, or a combination therein. Those two men were far from insane. They were reasonable, more so than I expected after all those years living the lives of barbarians in the wild. The first, Táridil, was called to a private meeting by our master. He knew not who called this or why, but he attended for reasons of his own.

"One would think such men, who resorted to nomadic lifestyles, would be the kind who did not have a life worth returning to. However, with enough questioning, Lord Caleil was able to find that even men such as these have those that they have given their heart to. Oh, he offered bribery of course—wealth, land, and steady employment among other desirable things. But you would be surprised to know that he was loath to turn against a friend for things such as those. In fact, he did not so much as consider. He actually threatened our master—even after being enlightened as to the true identity of 'Strider'. He labeled Lord Caleil as an assassin and said that justice would be brought upon him. The man remained steadfast even when our master threatened to kill him.

"At that point it was obvious that this Táridil could not be won over by temptation, nor did he fear his own death. Unfortunate it would seem to most, but I believe that Lord Caleil rather enjoys resorting to fear as a means of forcing betrayal. He _needed _this treachery to take place, because most likely an execution such as that would cause an already insecure man to withdraw—and he much preferred to attack the heir of Isildur without having to bother himself with the other Rangers. It was an interesting psychological experiment—would the pain of having killed a man, of having one he considered close betray him, be enough to make Aragorn seek solitude and desert the group?

"It was something that our lord was intent on trying. Therefore, he threatened the ranger Táridil; threatened to destroy those he cared about, and in terrible ways too. A threat by Lord Caleil is not to be taken lightly...especially when emphasized by a single, yet painful physical act." When Ancadur tapped the tip of his pointed ear to signify what that painful physical act had been, Eirin smiled knowingly. Then the elf continued.

"So, he tried to murder this Aragorn in his sleep and it failed, naturally. But part of the threat was that Táridil, if he _should _fail, could not confess to being threatened—the murders would still be carried out if he mentioned anything more than the bribery. That way, Lord Caleil was assured that the man would be executed. So the very ones who killed him never knew the truth. This was an innocent man, attempting to kill one he cared for to save those he loved more from an untimely and horrific death. The other, Finhir, was even more difficult to convince. I had the privilege of carrying _that_ act of persuasion out myself."

Ancadur laughed contemptuously as his speech ended. He enjoyed the mixed emotions that existed in Eirin's expression. Finally, after some moments of contemplation, the man responded.

"Fear. It can destroy. I suppose then, that the irony lies in that one man will die for those he loves, though does not care to have his own life threatened, whilst another would sooner kill and assert domination. We are the latter. The rangers were the former." That grin of malice returned to Eirin's face. "The former ended up dead."

This time, Ancadur returned the smile, pushing aside the brief memory that came to mind of those _he _had once loved. "That is why we serve Lord Caleil...we are the ones who will rise in the world, until we stand beside Sauron, reaping in rewards."

At that point, their conversation died. Ancadur could feel those penetrating gazes following him as he turned and looked up at the sky that opened up above the rock.

The sun was set. He had been waiting for this moment to come; waiting for night to fall. Many things could come with the night. It brought them closer to the attack—only one more day of the torturous sun, and then the hour when fate would be decided.

Ancadur knew that anger burned in the eyes and hearts of those watching him. They hated his stalling, hated the way he had taken control of the operation and planned everything out meticulously. If something were to go ill, the chances were slim that they would not turn against him. These were those brought to darkness by greed and temptation. They cared nothing for one another.

_All the more reason for everything to go exactly as planned. _

Ancadur closed his eyes. Things had to go according to plan—in this world of shadow, power was all he had left, and his allegiance to Caleil, his diligence in carrying out orders, was the only thing that gave it to him. It was the only thing he had control over anymore.

* * *

"Strange things happen on the nights when I sleep. First a hideous nightmare, now another betrayal and death. Perhaps I should simply not rest, because that is when I am susceptible to whatever dark things wish to plague me."

Legolas sighed. "Coincidence, Aragorn. Something terrible is not going to happen every time you succumb to sleep." It was dusk already, and it did not seem as though the ranger would agree to rest this night.

Aragorn did not answer, but shrugged with his gaze facing the ground as he trudged downward at a quick pace. Legolas walked a short ways behind him as the trail had grown narrower.

Though he would not admit it, Legolas had been left slightly unnerved by the prior night's incident as well, for more reasons than one. Why would Caleil send two rangers to attack Aragorn, when he obviously wished to carry out the murder himself and knew both would fail? Surely one served as enough of a warning. The "sleeping" coincidence was just Aragorn's unreasonable paranoia, obviously, so that did not bother Legolas much.

When they had buried the body, however, something else had brought worry to his mind. Finhîr's hair had fallen back from his face as they lowered him into the dirt, to reveal that he was missing his right ear. There was but a small aperture into the scull, surrounded by a circle of some dried substance that might have been blood. When Legolas had questioned Aragorn on the matter, the ranger had stated that Finhîr had never lost an ear, and both had been perfectly intact at their last encounter. Aragorn had then insisted that much could have happened between then and now and that it was no subject of great importance.

But Legolas knew Caleil and his vile ways...he liked to make people suffer, and would prefer that to simple bribery. He also recalled, though he had been watching Aragorn at the time, noting that Táridil as well seemed to be missing an ear. He had then decided that either the man had never had a right ear or that he had been mistaken in what he saw. Now Legolas was thinking twice on that occurrence as well. Could there have been more to these betrayals? Could Caleil had instilled fear and suffering in the two men besides just offering them riches?

_I may never know the whole truth. Perhaps it is better that way. _

"Aragorn, look; the end of the trail," said Legolas, forcing his mind to think of other things. Indeed, the mountains leveled onto even ground a little ways off. They would reach the foothills by nightfall and be able to be well out of the Misty Mountains by the next day. _And on our way towards Mirkwood. The way home. _

"I see it," Aragorn replied. "It will be a welcome change, to be out of the mountains. That path was forsaken indeed. I should be glad if I never have to travel through them again."

"Unfortunately, I do not think that is possible. Wherever you go...yes, I am sorry to say so, but you _will _have to come through here again."

"Thank you, Legolas. My spirits are quite lifted now."

"You will not, however, have to cross these mountains should you go to Gondor after your dealings in Rohan."

Aragorn sighed deeply. "I suppose that I cannot avoid the road to the White City forever. At this time, however, there is no way I can accept the responsibility of the throne. I plan to go by an alias in Rohan and then either the same one or another in Gondor."

"Would you go by one you already have? Strider, or Estel, or one of those familiar titles?"

"No. I do not know how many who know me by Strider now also know of my true identity, so that name is risky. The name Estel is not one I wish to hear regularly by those who are not my family—it makes me yearn too much for home." A smile suddenly crossed his face. "I will just have to be creative and think up a new one. Perhaps I will call myself Legolas."

Shaking his head, Legolas found himself smiling as well. "A fine name. But I am sorry to say that it does not suit you. Thorongil, perhaps?"

"That is actually a very strange name. I doubt it."

They continued walking down the trail, with the usual pattern befalling them of Aragorn hiking along noisily through the rocks and dirt with Legolas' silent footsteps and perfect balance behind him. They kept conversation light and on casual topics rather than discussing the pending night or their situation with Caleil. Sometimes, it was best to put such things out of their minds for a period of time. At one point, Aragorn felt the steep, unsteady dirt ground slip beneath him, and his right leg gave way so that he fell, beginning to stumble forward on the slope. He felt Legolas' hand grip the back of his tunic. The elf put his other hand on his companion's arm, and helped him to his feet. Aragorn looked at him gratefully.

This mountain road had, indeed, brought them much fear and pain in the end, particularly to Aragorn...but that suffering had also brought them to friendship.

The sun sunk lower in the distance, and the path began to clear, with the ground becoming steadier, rocks becoming scarcer and trees growing farther apart. When they had previously ascended on the way to Rivendell, they had gone up a different trail, one more densely wooded towards the bottom. Here there was some open land. It was a welcoming sight to see. Aragorn found himself slightly hurrying his pace, and Legolas matched it with ease.

Then, Aragorn finally stepped out onto level ground, just as sundown was complete and the moon was beginning to shine. He breathed a deep sigh of relief as he stopped for a moment and savored the liberation from the trying mountain trails with his head tilted upwards to face the sky. That part of the journey, at least, was over. He turned back, looking past Legolas at the place they had descended from, knowing that it was a path he did not want to lay eyes on again for a very long time.

Legolas was looking back as well. "As one stage is over, another begins," he said quietly.

* * *

Aragorn watched, seated casually on the ground and eating some of the few rations they had left, as Legolas nimbly climbed a tree to amuse himself. They had decided to stop for the night in the foothills—and naturally, Aragorn refused to sleep, rather insisting that he could be of use and help to keep watch. Finally Legolas had yielded to his companion's stubbornness, attributing it to his race.

The ranger looked up from his small meal to look at Legolas, who was now still and quiet in the boughs while looking up through the leaves. "You must be eager to return to your homeland," he said, easing his back as he leaned against the trunk of another tree not far away.

"Not particularly," Legolas called down. The way he was seated on a branch, swinging his legs back and forth, reminded Aragorn uncannily of Elladan and Elrohir when they would take time for relaxation. "I do not wish to confront the explanations and memories. But if I am gone much longer, Ada will start to truly worry, and the last thing I wish is for him to send out others to look for me as he has done in the past. So I must return to my home."

_Ada. _Aragorn remembered all the time he had used the word for 'father' when speaking to Elrond. He wondered vaguely if they would ever be close enough for him to use that word again, or if they would forever be divided. "Home can be unwelcoming at times, unfortunate a fact as it is. It changes." He did not look up at Legolas as he spoke those words. "Everything changes."

"If that was ever truly your home," the elf responded as he lay down on the branch and gazed up at the sky.

Aragorn shot him a look. "What are you implying?"

"Perhaps the place you regard as home is not where you belong."

The ranger shook his head, chuckling softly. He had thought of the same thing so many times. It had caused him endless grief; perhaps he _did _belong in Gondor, for he could not stay in Rivendell longer than a few days without Arwen's love and Elrond's rejection driving him nearly mad with despair. He missed his brothers. He missed his beloved. He missed the father he once had. But going home, though he saw them, brought no comfort.

"We are very alike, you know," Aragorn said.

Legolas nodded while replying. "Yes, we are. I think we both want the same thing—simplicity, beauty, to be able to love openly. It is not a selfish desire, yet seems the hardest to obtain."

"Have you ever been in love, Legolas? Have you ever wanted something you cannot have?"

The elf leaned forward, looking down at his companion so that their eyes locked. His smile seemed slightly sad as he swung down and sat beside Aragorn. "Have I ever been in love like you are in love with Arwen? To that extent, no. I have thought sometimes, that I was in love, but been proved wrong most every time, and I still search for that which is true. What is it like?"

Aragorn closed his eyes gently, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. "It is the most wonderful emotion in the world. I love everything about her; the way she speaks, and moves, the things she says...If there's one thing I really want more than anything else in the world, it is her. I would be content my entire life if we could have unhindered love. She is just...perfect. In every way. I do not know if she views me the same, but it matters not." By the time he was finished, his face was a mask of pure elation in just thinking about Arwen.

Legolas frowned playfully, and then laughed, shaking his head at how this grown man was acting like an infatuated youth. Soon Aragorn joined in the laughter, as he handed the elf a bit of dry fruit and a strip of venison, the latter of which Legolas politely refused as he preferred organic foods. Their combined mirth rang throughout the night.

"May the Valar grant me the privilege to feel the same thing some day," the elf said as he began to eat. "You will be taking first watch, then?"

Aragorn nodded. "I will wake you when it is your turn...but you need rest as well, Legolas, even if it is not the extent of my need."

Legolas smiled, clapping a hand onto the ranger's shoulder. "I will rest. Do not be concerned for me, _mellon-nín._"

They bid one another good night.The ranger watched as Legolas let his mind lose tension, easing into the state of mental and spiritual rest that was like sleep among his kind, coming at last to peace in his position on the mossy ground, leaning comfortably against a tree trunk.

On the morrow they would start for Mirkwood. After Legolas left, Aragorn would be alone again on the road to Rohan. Indeed, another stage of his life would be beginning. He ignored the way weariness weighed his eyelids and made him desire sleep. _To close my eyes is to be blinded to the outside world...and vulnerable to the demons of my mind. _

He looked at Legolas beside him, sleeping serenely in the way of his kin, with his eyes wide open. The human had long ago gotten accepted that Elves slept with their eyes open...but at times it could still be unnerving. Aragorn smiled to himself. Sometimes he couldn't even tell if they were asleep. A memory came of when Elladan had used his ignorance to scare the living daylights out of him, and he chuckled softly.

For this short time, until they reached Mirkwood, he would treasure the company of this elf...the companionship of one he had truly come to consider as a friend.

Aragorn almost laughed aloud as he looked up at the sky as he remembered earlier notions of fate and how his relationship with Legolas would progress. _I suppose we choose our own destinies, then. Maybe now I won't feel so dreadfully alone._

However, not even an hour later, with such thoughts still in his mind, Aragorn had fallen asleep. Legolas smiled from where he had been faking his own slumber. _Humans, _he thought. Then the elf stood, walking around their clearing quietly as he took his early watch, praying to the Valar that they would grant his friend a dreamless night.

* * *

Elrond surveyed the two standing before him, taking in their stoic expressions and pointed avoidance in looking at one another. He could see in their eyes not lies, but hidden truths. Truths that he needed revealed.

They were in one of the larger libraries of Imladris, at a table made of only the finest oak and carved ornately. The books rose up around them in thousands of bookcases onto which the tall windows cast their warming light. It was a grand place—some of the books were accessible only through a series of beautiful winding staircases, and the way the light hit them at this time of day was enough to take one's breath away. All the information of the Elves for many millennia were encased in those age-worn pages...but the information of the past, while being an aid to the present and future, cannot tell all. Only his sons knew of everything that was happening. Elrond felt his gaze hardening as he furrowed his brows, with frustration and anger starting to seethe within him.

"He did not tell you his destination?"

"No, Ada," answered Elrohir, remaining impassive.

"Nor of the general direction in which he traveled?"

There was a slight moment of hesitation; neither would blatantly lie, for their father knew too well when this was the case. Finally Elladan spoke. "He was traveling over the mountains; in the direction of the realms that lie on the other side—Gondor, Rohan, and Mirkwood amongst others. We know not which exact realm he purposed to go to."

"And you are sure that he left with Legolas?"

Both nodded, staring boldly into Elrond's eyes, as if daring him to question their truthfulness, but in a way wishing that he would.

The lord of Rivendell sighed, dropping his forehead into his hands and rubbing his temples wearily. "At least he was armed. With Legolas at his side, he should be safe; I simply worry. With Orcs running unchecked throughout lands so close to us, and the Dark Lord reputedly regaining some of his former strength, and whispers of the One Ring...there is no doubt in my mind that Estel will be hunted more so now than ever before. At least I can be somewhat assured that he is safe."

For the first time in the meeting, the twins stole a glance at one another. This was not the father they had seen the last few days. _Estel, _he had said just now. Elrond had not called Aragorn by that name for a long time. This was not the overlord who wanted this man as far away from his daughter as the reaches of Middle-Earth allowed...but the caring, loving father, concerned for the safety of one he considered a son.

Elladan and Elrohir felt the weight of deception on their hearts. Neither could keep up this façade much longer...for the truths of the fallen were not easily withheld, nor could they afford to keep such things secret for long. Both silently wished that the other would take the burden.

"You are hiding something from me," Elrond said quietly, in a knowing and admonitory voice. "I know you are. Sons, can you not see that I do this for your mortal brother's safety? I _need _to know the truth. It could mean the difference in many things."

Elrohir fingered the edge of the table, finally turning down his gaze, somewhat in defeat. It was no use hiding anymore. "The truth is difficult to bear."

Gently, Elrond reached over, and tilted his son's chin so that they looked directly at one another in a display of tender fatherly affection. "Do not be afraid to tell me of these things, Elrohir...or you, Elladan. I need to know everything. I may be angry, or terrified, depending on its severity, but I am prepared to hear all that you have to say."

The twins looked again to one another. "Where to begin?" Elrohir asked his brother after a long pause. Knowing that Elrohir had broken the ice, Elladan was the one to begin the tale.

"Ada...you remember Caleil?"

"Of course."

"My lord, he is not dead..."


	11. Chapter 11: Past and Future

**_Ooook, it's been awhile (as usual). I hope this chapter is worth the wait! Yes, the whole first part is in italics. Sue me. _**

**_Disclaimer: Actually, don't sue me, please?_**

* * *

Chapter 11: Past and Future

_A single note is sung  
__So strong with memories time can't sway  
__Then, across the reaches of endless twilight  
__It slowly begins to fade._

_And I hold to it, call to it, beg it with fear  
__To return the beauty of the past  
__But as it leaves, I'm left just with tears  
__Of a life that could never last. _

_-(Excerpt from "A Siren's Song")_

_As Greenwood the Great began to fall into slumber, during those hours after evening and before complete nighttime, a pair of sapphire eyes stared out into the darkness, bright and inquisitive, peeking through a tiny window in the upper cave wall. Two voices whispered quietly and produced minute echoes throughout the small room built into the cave's interior. _

"_Do you see them?" _

"_Yes." _

"_Do you think we can get past them?" _

"_Maybe." _

"_Are they at their usual stations?" _

"_Yes." _

"_Do you think they've locked the gates?" _

_The young elf standing tip-toe on a carven chair to see out the window turned with irritation. His face was still that of boyhood, even though he had already lived longer than any man, and that of his companion was even more youthful. "Valar, Legolas, will you stop asking questions and let me think?" _

_The smaller of the two brothers crossed his arms obstinately. "Well, you won't let me have a look!" _

"_You'll be obvious." _

"_Will not." _

"_Will too!" _

"_Will not!" _

"_Just keep quiet, will you? This was my idea anyway." _

_Legolas sighed and sat against the wall, drawing his small knees to his chest with an angry expression. "You always do everything, Caleil. You never let me." _

_Rather than continue arguing, Caleil chose to ignore his brother, and returned to staring at the routes the sentries and guards followed during their nightly patrol around Thranduil's stronghold. He memorized the patterns they would walk in. Forward...back...around...right..._

_Finally, his eyes spotted a weakness; not an opening obvious enough for an intruder to go through unnoticed, but perfect for two silent, determined elflings. _

"_I've found it, Legolas!" Excited, he jumped down from the chair, offering the younger elf a hand. Legolas found himself touched by the contagiousness of Caleil's enthusiasm and grabbed it, jumping promptly to his feet. _

"_Father's going to be angry if he finds that we went out at night again, and mother too," Legolas said. Not that he had any intention of backing out from the plan. _

"_Then we should leave before they realize we're gone! Follow me." _

_Pulling his brother behind him, Caleil opened the door and rushed out into the corridor. Though they went as stealthily as their excited hearts would allow, quiet footfalls could be heard against the silence of the halls that been emptied upon the coming of night. All of the elves of Thranduil's hall were resting for the night—save for his own sons. _

_They were coming up before the grand entrance gates, outside of which two guards stood dauntingly at their posts, staring out with keen eyes. Caleil took a detour into one of the smaller side rooms before they reached the gates, however. Legolas followed behind him without questioning, his eyes lingering for a moment on the guards. Then he looked back at the room they had many times used for sneaking out at night. Once inside of a place that served as little more than a spare linens closet, Caleil took a stack of clean white sheets and put them atop a wooden bench. The window above the bench was open. Cool night air seeped in, along with the sounds made by small nocturnal creatures as they went about their usual routines. The tops of trees were smooth black shadows against the blanket of night. _

_Caleil slipped out through the opening, going into the darkened world. He fell to the ground, yet managed to keep his footing upon contact with the soft grass. Each blade was moist from earlier rainfall, so that the elfling's clothes and skin were damp as he stood, but he paid it no heed. He rather turned back and waited. Legolas arrived finally, landing just as smoothly, and stood quietly with avid delight evident in his bright eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly silenced by his older brother, who knew the importance of silence at the moment._

_They inched along the wall until they reached a more open area, in which many guards were walking about on patrol. Caleil was leading, and felt Legolas' breathing quicken in apprehension against the nape of his neck. Reaching backwards, he took his brother's hand, still slick from the dewy grass, and began to move forward when he saw the officer before them moving away to search another area. _

_The two promptly ducked behind a large shrub, edging behind its far end so that they would not be seen by those along the lengths of it. Caleil's eyes locked on the outer border of the forest. He peered into the dark depths, where everything at ground level was shrouded so that the only illumination came from the distant moon and stars. _

"_When I say go," he whispered, his own breath now rapid, "We'll go into the forest. Stay still until I say so." _

_Legolas simply nodded. _

_The sentry pacing up and down the southern length of the shrub stopped going towards them, and turned so that he was facing the opposite direction. It was in this direction that he started walking. Caleil had memorized this pacing routine, and now took one last, deep breath before raising himself from the crouching position. The top of his golden head now protruded a bit over the rim of the bush. He and his brother still held to one another. _

"_Go!" Caleil whispered determinedly. With that one word to provide even his own motivation, he let his feet spring forward, and in a few seconds, they were under the veil of shadow. _

_Legolas let go of Caleil's hand then, and stood straight, taking in the air tinged by essence of the trees. "We made it," he said. _

"_Not yet. There is still farther to go. This isn't what we came to see." _

"_Caleil, I don't know the way in the dark." _

"_It's all right, Legolas. I do. Come with me." _

_The younger brother obediently followed as Caleil went further and further, winding through unseen pathways, his enthusiasm mounting as they neared their destination. Legolas found his own lips parted in a smile of anticipation. Both forgot any weariness that might have come with the late hour. They went on tirelessly, until the trees parted slightly to allow the formation of a clearing, at the opposite end of which a single white horse was tethered to a tree. It waited patiently, and its bright coat seemed to almost glow as it was touched by light from the heavens. _

"_We're riding?" Legolas asked. _

_Caleil looked back at his brother, raising an eyebrow. "Of course we're riding, Legolas. What did you think? Our place is way too far from home for us to walk. We wouldn't be back before tomorrow afternoon. This is father's fastest horse, and I know how to lead it down the shortest route. We'll be there much quicker. Even so, we'll barely be making it back before sunrise. That's why we left so early." _

"_All right, all right, I understand. But you shouldn't have taken father's fastest horse. If he finds out, he will be all the more angry."_

"_He won't find out." _

_Young age prevented either elf's stature from being very impressive, and Caleil boosted Legolas up onto their mount. The creature neighed softy, tossing its head while pawing at the ground with a hoof. Wisps of its breath were visible in the crisp autumn air. _

_Legolas pulled his older brother up behind him. Caleil wrapped his arms around the smaller elf's shoulders, so that he could take small clumps of the slivery mane in his hands to act as a natural rein. Then, with a quiet command in the grey tongue, they were riding into the night. _

_They rode for more than two hours, dodging obstacles, and both began to tire as the horse rounded trees and went down paths in glorious monotony as dawn was beginning to waken behind the mountains. It would make its appearance after some hours more. Caleil felt Legolas nod off into sleep, and let his brother's head rest lightly on his chest. Soft hair tickled his chin and lower cheek. Despite his own weariness, he continued to guide their stallion. _

_Finally, the time came. _

_Legolas was awoken by a gentle shake. He focused his eyes as he came out of the state of rest. "We're here, Legolas." _

_Both jumped down to the grass, lightly tying the horse again, giving the beast a pat of thanks as it resigned itself to again wait patiently. Then they moved forward at last. _

_Great wooden walls rose up before them, forming a vast enclosure; a stronghold of sorts, yet serving for no such purpose. On its gates there was but a single silver lock. The brothers went towards it, and upon arriving before their special place they felt small and wondrous, for they were always even more diminutive before these walls. Both wore twin smiles of glee. _

_Caleil took the lock in his hands; the metal felt very cold and sent a shiver up his spine. The silver formed a special wheel in the front, which turned to various numbers and symbols to allow for a combination system. At the top of the wheel there was the engraving of a leaf. _

_Small fingers turned the dial until the flowing pointer rested on the 2. _

Two brothers.

_He then went to the 1, spinning the pointer in the opposite direction. _

One fortress; the representation of two hearts that beat in unison.

_4 and 5 were turned to separately, but stood for a single number: 45_

The amount of days it had taken to reconstruct this place.

_And, lastly, the dial was turned full circle, until the pointer rested on the symbol of the leaf at top. _

The leaf, for the sons of Thranduil and princes of Greenwood the Great.

_The lock opened with a click. _

_Caleil and Legolas let the wooden gates creak open, and then allowed themselves in, looking around at the vegetation that was in full blossom. The wind blew with the sweet hint of floral scent riding upon it. Everything was so familiar, yet so beautiful every time, so that as always they stood for a moment with their breath stolen away. The brook that passed through the center of the enclosure burbled, and the water quivered, casting its dancing, moonlit reflection on the walls. _

_The trance was broken when Legolas began to run forward. "Hurry, Caleil! We'll miss it!" _

"_Dawn is still a good four hours away. We are not going to miss it." But he rushed forward as well. _

_They came to a halt beneath the single tree that stood as the centerpiece for the entire expanse. It was a beautiful mahogany, with great, bright leafs and many branches. The "Moon-Tree," as it had been named due to the periodic spectacle that the princes had come to witness, grew alongside the brook, so that it was cast in the light of the water's reflection and seemed ever the more alive. The two elflings carefully made their way into its upper boughs, as though wary to not defile a marvelous creature that might as well have been sentient. They both finally eased themselves into restful positions, lying down against the wood. Then two pairs of eyes looked up through the branches. The image of the water was still strong in those upper reaches, and both Legolas and Caleil found themselves captivated by it._

_Yet captivation could not describe their wonder when the full moon passed directly over the tree. _

_Light converged at two points. The aquatic patterns of the dancing water-light began to shine more brightly as they came in contact with the moon's luminescence. The great white orb was soon surrounded by reflecting movement. Also in the sky, the stars hung; small pinpoints that looked almost like glitter that had been thrown across the night. They twinkled merrily as earth and sky became one. The blackness of night was no more, for at this moment, in this place, there was no darkness, and it was as though the whole world was seeing day. The light of the sun would seem dim upon its next rising. _

"_The Moon-Tree," Caleil whispered, smiling broadly. There was no reason to whisper, really—they were so far in the forest that even their screams would not have been heard by those still at Thranduil's hall. The quiet was more out of reverence for that which seemed to be the very incarnation of heavenly beauty. "Where water and sky meet."_

_Legolas lay in absolute awe, with eyes wide open and unbelieving. "I've never seen anything like it, brother." _

"_There isn't anything else like it, anywhere in the world. Just here—in our tree." _

"_You discovered it?" _

_Caleil nodded with satisfaction. "Yes. The night I got lost, remember? It was a full moon that night." _

_The next few moments passed in utter silence. A dove with wings of white as pure as the stallion's coat passed overhead, and the brothers of the forest lay in bliss, swept away to distant worlds as they gazed upwards. They were side by side—almost as one at this point. Each could feel against him the warmth of the other, and feel his brother's hair lightly falling against him, while their passive breathing rose in unison. Finally, the quiet was broken, as Legolas' soft voice was heard. . _

"_Do we have to go back? I do not wish to ride again, and I would rather be here than at the hall." _

"_I would stay here too, Legolas. But I would sooner not risk father's wrath and mother's worry." _

_The younger elf paused, finally nodding in reluctant agreement. "All right. How much longer are we going to stay here?" _

_Caleil smiled. "Legolas, have I ever told you that you ask too many questions?" _

"_That was a question, Caleil. Perhaps I'm not the only one who wants answers." _

_The older elf playfully pushed his brother, and the two laughed together. The merry sound of youthful innocence seemed to perfectly fit their private world. At long last, however, it was time to go, and with disinclination in their minds and hearts, Caleil and Legolas climbed down from the Moon Tree. Their feet again touched the grass lightly. Then, hand in hand, the sons of Thranduil walked across their special place towards their steed, and the earth seemed to blossom around them, as though even it recognized the sweet harmony once built that was too perfect to last for eternity._

* * *

That had been the only time they ever witnessed the convergence of water and sky together. In the years that followed, the forest had begun to change to accommodate the world's troubles and evil intentions of Sauron's servants, until it had become a place devoid of beauty and overrun with creatures without innocence. Legolas wondered if he would ever again see something of the same caliber. Sadness came to him as he realized that even if he were to find such a place again, he would not be able to look upon it with Caleil by his side.

He did not know why this particular memory had come to him as he patrolled for the night just outside of Mirkwood. Perhaps it was because he and Aragorn were close to the place where it had occurred. Perhaps it was because of the knowledge that when he returned home, Caleil would not be there; on the contrary, he would be out spreading evil, never to care for things of splendor again. Perhaps it was because, as he stood guard, he felt like those sentries who had failed to notice them that night—filled with ignorance, and unable to see what was passing before them.

Perhaps it was simple due to the fact that some memories never, ever leave.

Legolas looked over the treetops as the morning began to appear.

Something stirred behind him, and he looked back to see Aragorn lifting his weighted lids as he came out of a sleep that had, thankfully, gone without incident. Upon realizing that he had fallen asleep, though, the ranger jumped up with his eyes wide open.

"I fell asleep!" he exclaimed, with a mild curse following it.

Legolas merely smiled. "Yes, it _is _a pleasant morning."

Aragorn sighed, rubbing his weary eyes as he walked over to stand beside his companion. "Now you've not had any rest."

"It is fine. I had much to think about. I trust you did not have any foul dreams?"

"No, thank the Valar. But now I worry that you did not rest at all."

"You are human, Aragorn, and therefore worry about all things far too much."

The ranger smiled, and laughed quietly. "Are we ready to go, then?"

"Not until after you've had something to eat."

Aragorn rolled his eyes and shook his head. He stubbornly lifted his sack without taking any food out to eat for the morning. "Legolas, stop acting like a doting mother. It does not suit you."

Legolas shrugged and walked to his own belongings, giving the human a shove as he passed. "All right, then. But when you collapse, I shall laugh merrily and continue on my way."

He spoke nothing of his memory, or of how sadness had plagued him at dawn. Aragorn had a way of making things seem slightly less terrible than they had been.

They began to walk. They did not say much; perhaps because they would soon be parted, and were thinking with apprehension about what it would feel like to be alone again in a place that could not be called home. Neither wanted to again wallow in despair without a friend at their side. Many times now, Legolas had contemplated continuing on with Aragorn to Rohan rather than returning to Mirkwood, but knew that such a path was folly and would only hinder the ranger in his rise through the world of Men. An Elven prince could not forever run from his responsibilities. His people would, at this time, be looking for leadership—which would most likely not be strong in Thranduil, as he was distressed by the fact that one of his sons was dead and the other missing.

_I would sooner not risk father's wrath and mother's worry. _

He would not have to face his mother's concern again, but that brought no consolation; Legolas would have gladly let her worry about him forever if it meant that he would see her face again.

_So many things have passed...as the morning dew falls from the leaf, as a bird that is spotted passing by only fleetingly, as two hands held together until those to which they belong must wander down different roads...it all comes to pass. _

* * *

Midday reached into the later hours of the afternoon, and as the dark shape of the forest crept closer into view, dusk was near at hand.

"There is Mirkwood, on the horizon."

Legolas looked up at the sound of Aragorn's voice. He had been able to see the border for a long time, but decided to let at least this one chance to irk the human pass. "Indeed. There she stands, in all her glory" The last words were spoken with distinct sarcasm.

"I suppose the time has come for us to part ways, then."

If he had not been feeling the exact same emotion, Legolas would have been surprised at the sadness in Aragorn's voice.

The elf offered a smile. "You must walk me to my doorstep, human. Or at least to Mirkwood's edge, for I am not so easily disposed of."

Aragorn laughed. "As you wish it, O Mighty Prince of Elves."

"It is always to be as I wish it, O Mighty King of Men."

"Very well. I bow to you."

"And I retch, for I hate nothing more than formalities."

"And I slowly move away, for I certainly would not like for it to fall on me."

"In which case I follow you, because it amuses me to see you annoyed."

"At which point you might as well have spoken your death wish."

It was the most absurd conversation the two had ever had. But it worked to lighten their hearts, and as they continued voicing their idiotic scenario, both found themselves hopeless with laughter and nearly unable to walk straight. The sun shone all the brighter and buds flowered...even for the land and its quiet inhabitants, it was good to hear laughter again...

Perhaps there is a reason why dark things shirk light and laughter.

* * *

Elrond stood as the epitome of quiet shock, his heart racing in his chest though he was still outwardly. He found that he could not meet his sons' eyes. The twins understood their father's position. They exchanged a glance, wishing that his reaction had been otherwise, though. To them, the Elven lord's silent acceptance of the terrible truth was worse than if he had struck them in rage.

He turned to them then. Elladan and Elrohir looked back at him pleadingly, knowing what part of their tale he would focus on when he again spoke. The moment came sooner than they expected.

"You did not stop him," Elrond stated, disbelief evident in his voice rather than retribution. "You had a chance to shoot, to end it, yet you did nothing!"

"You do not understand," Elladan said quietly.

The lord of Imladris slammed his fists on the table, causing his sons to jump with surprise at both the sudden impact and the justified anger that was now in their father's eyes and his raised voice. _"You did not stop him!" _

He continued with a voice not his own; it was twisted by rage and panic. "You could have saved lives. Here you come, face to face with a murderer seeking the blood of your own _brother, _and you let him walk away! Do you realize the lives that could have been spared? Not only Estel's, but many!"

Elrohir began a protest. "Ada, he made a promise—"

"Of _course _he made a promise! But do you truly think he would not tell a lie? Those who follow this elf are cowards, turncoats, and serve only darkness. There is nothing but chaos without leadership. If Caleil were to be killed, his fallen henchmen would not seek to avenge him! They are only in this for their own gain. They would turn to the next person to offer them whatever it is they seek. How could my own sons have been so blind, so wrong in their judgment? Do you realize that you have put your mortal brother's life in unjust and unnecessary peril? Do you realize, Elladan and Elrohir, that by your mistake _he could die!" _

"_Ada!" _yelled Elladan, standing abruptly. His own fists were clenched on the tabletop while he fought desperately against the tears that hid behind his eyes. Elrond was surprised by the outburst, and the pain in his son's voice, so much that he listened rather than interrupt.

"Do you not think we have doubted our decision ever since the moment in which we made it? Do you not understand that as he rode away, we wanted nothing more than to put an arrow through his heart and be done with it? You would not believe the inner torment we have gone through." At this point, Elladan felt moist warmth finally running down his face, and could hear himself crying as he spoke. "But you must stop and think—_what would you have done? _You were not there, Ada! You did not see the sorrow, the pleading in Legolas' eyes! He still believes there is a chance to save his brother. Believe me, if Legolas had not been there, we would have ended it. But the way he looked at us...and imagining myself in his position, with Elrohir or Estel...and realizing that there might still be a glimmer of hope for Caleil's salvation, for Caleil was our friend...I could not bring myself to loose that arrow."

"And neither could I," said Elrohir as he stood, laying a comforting hand on his distraught brother's shoulder. He then looked at his father in the eye. "We feel guilty enough, Ada. Please, just help us? We've made this mistake...and Valar, if it ends fatally for Estel, may it be our last. But we need you. We truly do."

Elrond took a deep breath, and then spoke softly. "We do not know where he has gone...so we must take a guess. May Eru guide us to guess correctly."

The lord removed the gold-trimmed robes that adorned the plain garments he had on underneath and draped them over a chair.

"We ride, and I pray that we will not be too late."

* * *

**_But if he was not too late, there wouldn't be a story, would there? _**

**_Muaha. _**

**_Please Review! See the preview of Chapter 12 on my profile. _**


	12. Chapter 12: A Brother's Chains

**_So, I WAS planning to update my other two fics before this one, but...I felt like updating this one, pretty much because it's my favorite and because the chapter was already written and beta'd. Plus I'm going through review withdrawal._**

**_I'm so terrible at updating. I promise, the next updates SHALL come sooner!_**

**_Disclaimer: Hi. I didn't put a poem at the beginning of this chapter. Should I have? _**

* * *

Chapter 12: A Brother's Chains

An elf and a man stood quietly, gazing into indistinct, shaded depths as they both contemplated the future.

Legolas sighed. The forest looked anything but hospitable; these trees were not those of Rivendell, cast with the purple-hued twilight, and they did not open their arms to greet him as he ventured once again into their midst. The worn pathways were now shrouded. Of course, he had expected no less, but the feeling that the ground beneath his feet was now dark and foreign still managed to bring Legolas warranted sorrow and inexplicable guilt. He smiled grimly at his companion, hoping to break Aragorn's unfathomable expression.

"I would have had you look upon her in younger days, when there was beauty here to match and rival other Elven realms. But I am afraid those days are long gone."

Aragorn nodded, and returned Legolas' gaze with pitying regret in his eyes. "I would have preferred that as well. I would also prefer, Legolas, to not leave a friend to wander alone into a place that looks so dangerous."

The elf gave a hapless laugh. "It is my home, dangerous or not, and sooner or later a familiar face shall accompany me to halls that still know splendor. The thought of being a lone wayfarer across the open, vulnerable land that stretches from Rohan seems to hold more peril."

"Well, it appears that neither of us will go about our journey in complete safety," the ranger answered. "But we are both well accustomed to that."

The dim light of the evening fell upon them both, and a silence fell between them. They looked back, as stars began to twinkle softly above the mountaintops from whence they had come. Then Legolas spoke quietly.

"I suppose, then, that the time has come for farewells?" he asked.

Aragorn smiled sadly and reached out, gripping his friend's shoulder affectionately. "I will miss your company, son of Thranduil. Perhaps I will someday hear of a strong-willed Elven prince, who has led the armies of Mirkwood to drive out the evil that tainted his home with darkness."

Legolas smiled sadly, and returned the touch. "And perhaps I will someday be sent word that a mighty King of Men, a picture of the glory of his race, approaches the forest, to counsel with an old friend."

"Perhaps you will not. Maybe, when you look out on that day, there will only be a weary ranger, looking for shelter from a storm."

"Either way, I will know it is you."

The two drew close in a brief, brotherly embrace, before separating and turning to face their destinations. They shared a final look.

"Namarie, Heir of Isildur."

"Namarie, Legolas Thranduilion."

Legolas watched Aragorn for a few moments as the human turned away, his footsteps beginning to carry him away on a journey that was only just beginning. Then, the elf turned to accept his own destination, and passed underneath the hostile boughs that welcomed him home.

* * *

Aragorn did not know what unseen force hurried his steps as he left. He knew that Legolas watched him from where he waited outside the forest edge, so what did he have to fear? It was as though someone walked but a few paces behind him...he could feel their putrid breath, barely touching in feather-light, unnerving wisps that brushed against his neck. The farewells exchanged some moments ago had been brief and rushed. Something was bidding him to run, to run far away...something was coming, an invisible threat...and he was out here, where no cover offered him protection from his susceptibility on open land and no Elven eyes perceived distance menace.

He was out here, where he was alone.

The world was plunging quickly into darkness. To the west, the clouds that brought a storm of tears with them were continuing to gather, until they were full and heavy with a tempest. Aragorn dared to look back, holding to some slim hope that Legolas might still be behind him—but the edge of Mirkwood had become nothing more than a collection of shadowed shapes that seemed to move, even though there was no life within them.

It was then, in that moment when his mind had already given way to uncertainty, that Aragorn heard distant movement. He strained his hearing, and looked in the direction of the mountain passes. Was that some unnamed monster silhouetted against the night? It was a group, though Aragorn could not tell what sort of beings comprised it. Their footsteps were many...and they were heading towards him. As they drew nearer, he could make out eyes that glowed a ghastly yellow; eyes full of hateful determination. Aragorn was frozen where he stood. He could run...but then, something inside told him that they would run as well, and eventually ensnare him. At the moment, they were walking, with resolve that made them intimidating.

_You are not helpless. You are not afraid. _

_Gurth enín goth. _

Aragorn pulled out his sword, comforted by the feel of the hilt in his grasp and the sound of steel scraping the leather sheath. He watched them with a vengeful stare. No longer were they shapes without distinct form; now, he could make out some hideous features of Orcs. Yet Men and Elves walked alongside them, swords and knives drawn.

An unspoken remorse flooded into Aragorn's mind.

_How does it come to this? How can evil so manipulate the world that brother turns against brother, and those who should be as kin to one another become the greatest of foes? _

The questions, however, went unanswered—for at that moment, the faction of black hearts began to run towards him, and the earth shuddered beneath them. All thought was erased from Aragorn's mind as he raised his sword, touching it lightly to his forehead. There was only one thing to think about now: Death.

* * *

Something was wrong.

Legolas looked down at how the land trembled beneath his feet, and his eyes went wide as he heard thundering steps and the sound of drawn steel from afar. He was so close now...so close to his father, so close to home...

The screams and pained grunts that spoke of a fight drifted into the forest.

_No...Valar, we separated, and now..._

_Now, they're coming. _

Guilt overcame the elf. For some moments, he could not move—he could not breathe.

_Aragorn..._

He had left the ranger. He had decided to return to a home that didn't need him, and left a friend to become a victim of heartless murder. What punishment for abandonment could there be that was greater than the tormented thoughts that imposed themselves on Legolas' mind? There was no way to change things now. He could go back, but it would already be too late. Or, he could continue walking, and name himself a traitor for eternity.

Legolas looked up, and saw the form of another elf, moving between the trees. He held up a lantern, and the candle shone dimly in the midst of the forsaken night.

"Prince Legolas?" The patrol guard's tone was disbelieving. He began to make his way towards his fellow sylvan elf. "Is that really you? Thank the Valar, we've been searching for so long!"

_It's now or never. _

Offering nothing to the guard but an apologetic shake of his head, Legolas turned and ran.

"Prince Legolas!"

The branches whipped against his face and drew blood as Legolas yanked an arrow from his quiver.

"_Prince Legolas!" _

He had not slain Caleil when the opportunity had stared him straight in the eye. No. Legolas had let his brother go, weakened by the compassion that defined his nature. Now, he had to pay the price. Why was it never _him? _Why couldn't somebody just take _his_ life, instead of hurting those he loved?

Legolas hoped that word of his return to Mirkwood would not reach Thranduil. For now, he was leaving again, and might be lucky if his corpse was returned to the halls for burial.

The cover of the forest disappeared quite suddenly, and the open land beneath the endless sky seemed vast in comparison. He had never felt so insignificant...but at least he was not unarmed. In one hand, he held his Elven bow, knowing that its aim would not fail—not when driven with deadly intent. In his other hand, an arrow with silver and green fletching waited to pierce flesh.

His eyes followed the source of the sound, and Legolas could see and hear the small battle, raging with the force of a war of a thousand armies. He caught glimpses of steel flashing when some tiny pinprick of light fell upon swords and daggers. He heard groans of death, and saw several shapes fall to the ground...and then lay still.

The Orcs, Men, and Elves fought together. Legolas knew that Caleil had sent them; he had not needed to see them to know it. But it still broke his heart to see an elf that he recognized, fighting with the same vile zeal as the Orcs beside him. With profound awareness of his dark surroundings, Legolas began to run towards them. As he ran, he notched an arrow, and with a graceful, fluid movement, released it. One of the Orcs fell dead where he stood—he never even had time to utter a death cry.

As the Elven prince drew nearer, there were thoughts running through his mind that he could not eradicate.

_Ancadur...why? _

_Finhîr, Táridil...why? _

But mostly, it all came back to one question...a question that Legolas feared he would never be able to answer.

_Caleil...why? _

He released another arrow. A man fell, his corpse making a dull thud as it fell.

At that moment, many eyes turned to look at him...his presence had made itself known. In the dark, it was hard to tell, even for Elven eyes, but were their lips curling into smiles? Ancadur raised his hand...and the fight ceased.

"_Legolas!" _

Legolas stopped dead in his tracks.

Because of that momentary lapse in time in which Aragorn had withdrawn his defense to look at the elf, he had finally been apprehended from behind. The ranger's sword was thrust out of his grasp and unceremoniously clattered to the ground.

Ancadur came forward, looking as arrogant and sure of himself as ever. He raised his arms in a shrug and approached Legolas without fear.

"You should not have returned, Legolas!" He said triumphantly. "You should not have, but we knew you would. Raise that bow again, and I assure you that your mortal friend will bear no small amount of suffering."

"Ancadur," said Legolas, lowering his bow. He wrenched his eyes away from Aragorn, so that he could match the fallen elf's stare. "Don't do this, Ancadur. My brother has twisted your mind. You can be free of this darkness!"

For a moment, it looked as if remorse and consideration flickered in Ancadur's expression...but it was soon lost again to the cold mask of mutilated evil. He sneered cruelly.

"Caleil never fails to tell us how weak you are."

Why did that one remark cut so deeply?

Ancadur beckoned for Legolas to come forward. "Come quietly, and we can avoid anything unpleasant." The mocking grin the crossed his face made the last words a lie.

Legolas had lost this fight. His feet began to carry him forward, dragging like lead weights.

Aragorn struggled against the arms restraining him. "Legolas! No! Get away from here!"

Ancadur turned to the ranger, evidently annoyed. "Shut your mouth, human!"

One of his captors, an Orc, dealt Aragorn a blow to the back of the head, and the human bit his lip to keep from crying out at the unexpected pain as he fell forward into a kneeling position.

_Don't hurt him...please, don't hurt him..._

Never before had there been a more futile wish.

"We do not have eternity, your Majesty!"

Legolas realized that he had stopped walking. He began to move forward again. The moment the prince was within reach, Ancadur grabbed him roughly by the arm, and pulled him close. A human took his other arm. Legolas looked to the man, and saw a face contorted permanently into an avaricious smile that revealed rotting teeth...a face that was so close to his own that he could feel hot, fetid breath against his skin. A rancid taste filled his mouth.

An Orc, even fouler than the defiled man, came from behind, and Legolas was stripped of his weapons. Never had he felt so exposed and helpless.

Aragorn, who had been watching with wide eyes and slowly shaking his head in denial, suddenly lashed out, knocking one of the Orcs off of him. "_Lýgion!" _he yelled. Legolas felt Ancadur involuntarily shudder upon hearing his former tongue.

"Get a hold of him!" the dark elf commanded.

"Aragorn..."

The one word was all Legolas could say. How could he tell his friend to not resist? How could he tell him to abandon hope and be a complacent prisoner? Yet how could he encourage it, and encourage torture that was sure to come? A single spoken name could bear so many meanings...

Ancadur compulsively kicked Legolas in the shins, so that now, both prisoners were on their knees. Legolas sank to the ground, looking at the way dark blood stained the grass. "No speaking! _At all!" _

The man with the rotting teeth and wild eyes spoke then. "I think these two need a warning, Ancadur. I think they need to be taught a lesson." His desiring tone sent a shiver up Legolas' spine. This was a madman, and their subjugators were listening to his suggestions.

There was a moment of silence.

"Very well," whispered Ancadur in a neutral tone. "Shagûk, teach them a lesson..."

One of the Orcs restraining Aragorn stepped forward in response. A grin broke out across his face. "It'd be my pleasure."

Legolas' heart tightened in his chest, and a cold sweat of fear began to drip down his face as the foul creature stepped in front of his friend. The entire time, Aragorn kept his eyes downwards, as if praying that the ground would rise and consume him.

Shagûk bent, and grabbed the top of the ranger's tunic, putting his hands on the neckline. Then, he ripped the garment down the middle, and the sound of the tear made Legolas wince. The bare flesh of Aragorn's chest was exposed. The human began to shiver slightly as the cold night air rushed in and chilled his skin. Legolas started to murmur denial under his breath, and twisted his arms to try and break free of his captors. They only tightened their grip on him, their eyes unblinkingly gazing at Aragorn.

It was then that Shagûk stepped to the side, so that his actions might be seen by the other prisoner.

"This is only the beginning of pain," said the Orc. His voice was grating, like the sound of a course stone sharpening a jagged blade.

From his side, Shagûk withdrew a knife—a long, flexible knife. Legolas did not need bright moonlight to see the shine on the razor-sharp edge. When the steel was brought to Aragorn's chest and touched him, Legolas felt as though it was coming into contact with his own skin, and he began to tremble. The whole time, the ranger never betrayed his fear...but his Elven friend knew that it was there, in the deepest recesses of his heart.

What happened next happened very quickly.

Shagûk slashed the knife in an expertly slanted cut, and a hoarse cry was torn from Aragorn's throat. Legolas jerked at the sound. A bright line of blood, replicated on the blade, appeared on the human's chest. It was a shallow severing—but painful enough. Then, the Orc reached down, and it seemed that time slowed down as his rotting fingers were inserted into the wound.

He began to peel back the flesh.

Legolas started to cry out, and Ancadur and his human counterpart had to press their captive onto the ground and pin him there to keep him apprehended. The elf felt his tears of disbelief dampen the grass. _Caleil...Valar, Caleil, how could you?_

At first, Aragorn did not scream—there is always a millisecond of shock. But when the sound came, it was horrifying enough to make a dead man stir...

* * *

The thundering of three horses abruptly ceased, and the creatures began to breathe heavily out of weariness. They had been riding at a fierce gallop for some time now. Their riders absentmindedly stroked their horses' manes; they wanted to comfort the beasts, but were in too much of a hurry to go any slower. One of the horses cocked its ears at the sound of running water from a brook somewhere nearby.

Elrond was at the head, and had brought the small company to a halt. Before him, the mountains rose, starting with a small trail and culminating in the numerous peaks. It was always difficult to get through the mountains. What he had to think of now was what path to take—certain roads through the mountains were much quicker and easier with others, but he hadn't the slightest idea of where he wanted to go. The twins' lack of information was frustrating, but Elrond knew it was not their fault. They were just as worried and afraid as he; it was evident in their eyes. He kept his stare fixed on the rocky, wooded path as Elladan and Elrohir pulled their horses up beside him.

"Where now?" asked Elrohir quietly.

Elrond's grip tightened on the reins as he furrowed his brow in intense concentration. "The shortest path is by this trail, and then going on the right-hand path when it diverges and continuing in that general direction when the road disappears. That will land us in the open plains, near to Mirkwood."

"Let's go that way," said Elladan quickly,

"We don't want to make a hasty decision!" said the elven lord sharply, turning a raptor's gaze to his son. Elladan met the stare boldly.

"Think about it, Ada," he said. "Aragorn is with Legolas. We've told you why we think they came to travel together, but where would they go? And how far would they go together? Legolas has been missing from Mirkwood for quite some time; I do not doubt that his father has been looking for him, or that Legolas knows that he must go home. I think they will have gone there. If Legolas is there at least, then we can inquire about Estel's whereabouts. It's better, at any rate, than a shot in the dark."

Elrond thought for a moment and looked away from Elladan. He was concerned for Legolas' safety, for he had truly come to care for the young elf, but was more paternally inclined to find his mortal son. He did not want much right now—only knowledge that Estel was safe. Then, he would have some trackers hunt down and apprehend Caleil. Finding Aragorn was the important thing right now...

And Elladan's way might be the only way to accomplish that.

"Yes," said Elrond quietly. "Yes, we will go to Mirkwood. I know of a stream up in the mountains where we can refresh the horses later on, but for now we must make haste." Without another word, he urged his steed forward with a command that was reluctantly obeyed. Elladan and Elrohir fell into a single file behind their father as they began to ascend into the higher depths of the Misty Mountain.

* * *

Waiting. Why was there always so much waiting to be done?

Waiting makes way for thought, whereas action usually eliminates it. Caleil wished that his time would come, so that he would not have to think...so that he would not have to remember. What if the time came and his thoughts made him weak? The dark elf tried, again unsuccessfully, to clear his mind and concentrate on the sound of the sharpening rock against the edge of his blade.

Knives were really all he needed to draw blood. Caleil looked at the array that he had; they were lined up against one of the decaying walls, waiting for sharpening and use. However, he also had some other weapons that could be of use. Now there was only one thing missing...something that Ancadur was bringing from the mountain stronghold.

Chains.

Caleil had lit a small fire in the dead of night, so that he might better see his handiwork as he worked with his instruments. The fire blazed brightly, casting a red hue over the shadowy world of the fortress. The variety of natural objects had lost their small amount of color and become nothing but red against black. Caleil himself was half-sitting, half-crouching beside the flames as he sharpened and waited. As he observed the dichromatic area about him, a chant began to form in his mind, and he welcomed it; he would welcome anything to destroy the thoughts.

_Red and black, red and black...sharper and deadlier...red and black..._

He drew the rock along the blade again, and it sang with a quiet, metallic ring.

Then, Caleil looked up. What was that? He put a lock of hair behind his pointed ear, hoping to hear the muffled sound again. There it was—the distinct sound of crunching leaves. A single person approached, and what he had heard was their footfalls.

His intense eyes glared at the wooden door, and streaks of red from the fire illuminating their deathly expression. The sharpening rock scraped against the blade one more time. Then, a quavering voice came from behind the door, and a quiet knock echoed. The only other sound was the crackling of the fire.

"Prince Legolas? Are you in there?" The guard knocked again. "Your Highness, you should not run off like that, we have been so worried, and to see you just leave..."

The guard spoke as if he addressed a child, and Caleil recognized the voice immediately: Salen, one of the main guards. How many times had Salen taken care of Caleil and Legolas when they were yet children? How many times had he caught them sneaking out?

Caleil looked at the blade, and his mouth twisted into a painfully cruel smile. This would be perfect preparation for destroying Legolas. If he could kill Salen...if he could kill Salen, he would be able to kill his brother, without any of this pointless, weak hesitation, wouldn't he?

He stood, dropping the rock, which landed soundlessly on the dark ground. The knife remained fixated in his hand. Then, Caleil drew his black hood over his golden hair again, so that he was nothing more than another shadow in the void of this night. He moved silently to the door and persistent tapping, practically gliding over the ground.

Caleil heard hands fumbling with the lock, and he sneered. It was pointless to try to open the lock unless you were one of the princes of Mirkwood. He reached out, and easily unlocked the door from the inside. The long, slow creak it made as it opened sounded rather like a phantom's moan in the night.

Salen held the lantern up, confused at the dark figure before him; it stood completely cloaked in black, with a backdrop of red firelight. Beneath the hood, he saw fair skin, blonde locks, and familiar features...

"Prince Legolas?" he asked, his voice heavy with uncertainty.

Caleil drew back the hood, not bothering to let go of the knife. The tip of the blade brushed against his hair.

Salen took a step back, and the lantern fell from his hands. It clattered to the ground and broke into hundreds of shards of glass, and the snuffed-out candle rolled away into the rotted vegetation. The elf stammered as he spoke.

"P-Prince..._Caleil?" _

Before any other words could escape Salen's mouth, Caleil reached out and grabbed his throat, using that hold to pull the guard close to him. Then he used his other hand to shut the door.


	13. Chapter 13: Murdered Innocence

_**Hey! Look, an update. Heh. **_

**_Important A/N: One of my reviewers finally caught a major flaw in how my story fits into Tolkien's timeline, a mistake that I have long thought about fixing and had been avoiding. My rewrites would include basically taking out the Aragorn/Arwen part of the fic and making some major edits in some thoughts, conversations, and situations that refer to it. I think the best time to do these rewrites would be after the story itself is completed and I'd like to know what you think. However, if you really like the romance element and want it to stay enough for me to mark the fic "AU", I'd like to hear about that too. _**

_**Disclaimer: Broadway is dark tonight...sorry, that's the song I'm listening to. I own only the characters and places that are unrecognizable as Tolkien's. **_

_**Enjoy! **_

* * *

Chapter 13: Murdered Innocence 

_Silver eyes, alert and alight  
__Are caressed by crimson blood  
__And touched by fire's wistful kiss  
__They are  
__Beautiful  
__And terrifying  
__And everywhere at once. _

_Slight remembrance invokes the past  
__To indulge their waking stare  
__To seek their lasting innocence  
__But now  
__Murdered  
__You wonder  
__If it was ever even there. _

_The days are gone when we were innocent..._

At first, it was difficult to take note of anything; everything had happened so quickly that Legolas' mind was nothing but a collection of confused thoughts, and he paid no attention to where his feet were leading him. But then, a feeling began to come over him that was hard to ignore. It was a mysterious familiarity that made him ache with want and tremble with fear at the same time. He kept glancing back at his fellow prisoner, who was biting his lips so hard against the pain in his chest and chill of the night that blood trickled down his chin. Legolas could not help feeling that if some forgotten fork in time had turned a different way, this man would not be here. Aragorn might have still been Estel, the fosterling of Elrond who dwelled in safety with his brothers in fair Imladris.

Instead, he was on the road to oblivion...and with horror, Legolas realized that he had traveled this road before.

He recognized it by seeing the way a certain clearing would lead into a certain trail that was lined with two rows of gnarled, shriveling trees. Looking down, he could see muddied ground beneath black moss that had been trampled by hooves. Who would lead a horse down these paths? Nobody. Those marks were barely noticeable to the naked eye, but Legolas knew how to detect them. For years, this path had been repeatedly used, so that it now remained flattened despite the fact that it was not an active transport road. Even though the environment had gone through such a dramatic change over the years, the basic characteristics were still there: the subtle slope of the road, the gentle winding shape, and specific landmarks that stood out or sparked memories.

_Valar...please, anywhere but there. Caleil, how twisted has your mind become that you would choose it? How low in the pit of darkness are you now that you would make it your torture chamber? _

Legolas tried as hard as he could to deny it. But as they went farther, it became clear that this was not something he could wish away or forget. How could he? This was by far the most wretched thing his brother could do. Legolas was now torn between utter sorrow and fierce hatred, both laced with the opposing quality of love that was long lost, but never forgotten. Of all places, Caleil had to use _that_ place...

_Our place. _

He was undeniably intelligent. What other place could bear so many memories and cause so much mental torment to the brothers? It was all meticulously planned. If Caleil could destroy somebody in a place that had given him love and life, he could destroy somebody anywhere else in all of Arda...and if he could kill the brother who had shared those days of laughter and beauty with him, he could kill anybody.

Thus Caleil would gain to the power to kill anyone, anywhere. It would be the ultimate prize for an already-ruthless murderer. It was easy to see Caleil's intelligence and ability to analyze the mind's intricacies, but it was also possible to see that he had passed rationality and fallen into a dangerous, vindictive madness.

Legolas suddenly had the urge to do something he had not done in—literally—ages:

He wanted to cry.

He wanted so badly to let tears fall for everything that had occurred. If he could, he would cry for what had happened to his brother Caleil and dear friend Aragorn...but mostly, he would cry for the purity that was alight in the eyes of a child and then smote by corruption; the savagely murdered innocence that, once destroyed, was gone as though it had never existed. All that had once been innocent was now gone—by its own will or not. Caleil had become the very incarnation of malevolence, while the brothers' special garden had become a fortress of agony. As a result of everything, Legolas doubted that he himself could be called innocent; he had seen and done things that could never be altered.

Their passage to Caleil's stronghold was not occurring at the edge of a slave-driver's whip, thankfully. The "warning" had been enough. Legolas could still hear Aragorn, who had proven himself to be exceptionally strong-willed and courageous, screaming at the sudden rush of excruciating pain. He also imagined that Caleil had given specific instructions, and that their captors were simply delivering the prize. Nay, the two prisoners would not be victims of any further harm for the moment...that was the sole privilege of the murderer himself.

"Do you know where we are going, little prince?"

Legolas' eyes drifted sideways. Ancadur was the one restraining Legolas' left arm, and had leant in close so that he could speak in his captive's ear. The fallen elf spoke under his breath and was barely audible. Something about the tone he used sent chills through Legolas—his voice was soft and alluring, yet cold as ice and tinged with piercing malice.

Numbly, Legolas gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Ancadur continued, his hand tightening on Legolas' arm. "Then you can recall all of those fond childhood memories. I suppose that Lord Caleil intends to make you suffer greatly before your death."

_Do not presume you can decipher his motives, _thought Legolas.

He looked away from Ancadur, trying to lose himself in the passing shadows.

"You cannot ignore this as you try to ignore me. This is not a dream, nor is it a lie. It is a fierce reality, and I live in it daily."

That was the final thing Ancadur said. Legolas could think of so many things to say in return, and many questions to ask, but he stayed his tongue after taking one look at Aragorn. There were times for speaking, and times for silence. He was now a prisoner awaiting death—and the angel of death would never answer his questions or heed his pleas. It was a time for the quiet of waiting.

_But the more I think, the more afraid I am. So many times, I look with apprehension at the concept of eternity...yet now I fear death. Is there any option that does not carry fear with it? _

Somehow, though, admitting that he was afraid brought a certain peace upon him. He did not have to play at being the strong prince. Finally, after so many years of pretending and lying, Legolas was able to admit to a sincere emotion, and he embraced it, accepting it with every aspect of his being. It made him tremble. It made his breathing quicken to the point where he could scarcely force a breath out at all. He had to constrict his throat to withhold moans and whimpers, all the while tightening his chest muscles, which ached because of his pounding heart. For some time, he even thought that he was thirsty, but soon realized that his mouth was dry because of reasons that had absolutely no connection to thirst.

Everything was confirming it, from the fact that his wide eyes refused to close to the way he had to summon all of his willpower to continue with every step. But then...

Then, the ultimate confirmation came, when sweat dripped into his mouth and bore with it the taste of blood. Tears flowed down as well, proving that he had, at last, subconsciously managed to cry, and he could see the beads of moisture sliding off of his skin when they chanced to catch a tiny shard of light. The tears and sweat bore a pink hue.

It was the preliminary stage of sweating blood, and sweating blood could only mean one thing: he was deathly, deathly afraid. But was it for his own life? Did he subconsciously place so much value on his own well-being?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aragorn shivering.

_I am afraid, yes. I fear for the people of the world, that this same evil will soon govern every aspect of their lives...and I fear for the world that exists inside of every individual person, because the potential for good can so easily be corrupted. Could you ever know that I am afraid for you, Caleil, more than I am afraid for myself? _

_Could you ever know, Caleil, that I still love you?_

Somewhere in the back of his mind—or perhaps from some unearthly source in the shrouded woods—Legolas thought he heard someone whisper: _"He knows..."_

* * *

Aragorn could not help wondering at the familiarity and horror in Legolas' eyes. So many things assaulted him; the murky shadows, the chilling cold, the throbbing ache in his chest, and the numbing fear were everywhere. However, the calculating part of his mind refused to stop deliberating. He had learned, as a ranger, how to use strategy to mask pain and break through the overwhelming haze caused by fear. That part of him needed to serve him now; Aragorn knew that it might be the only thing that would save him and Legolas. 

His mind kept going back to the dream, and Legolas' comment about his Elven blood giving him some element of foresight. Aragorn had secretly entertained the thoughts for days after the nightmare. Maybe the dream—how it progressed, how it ended—could aid them somehow. But it was almost impossible to recall details when the mere memory could sometimes send him reeling back into a world of horror. He silently cursed himself for his inability to think clearly, even though he had to bury the agonizing fear that he felt at the thought of having to return to his nightmare. And even though it would be nearly impossible for anyone to think clearly as they walked the path towards their torture chamber, Aragorn's tendency to be too hard on himself still managed to shine through.

They had been walking for a few days now. Surprisingly, Caleil's band had become rather indifferent towards their captives since Aragorn's "warning". They hustled the man and elf forward and at times would taunt them by slyly showing knives and whips, but in the end the bravado was only a show. They knew that Caleil would want them delivered intact. Sometimes, however, Aragorn almost wished that they _would _give pain instead of cold silence; that way, he wouldn't have so much empty time in which to think about what awaited him and to regret what he might be leaving behind forever.

He wondered if Elrond and the twins already thought he was well on his way to Rohan. Since Elrond did not know of Caleil, they were most likely still in Rivendell, living their lives of beauty and sparing a thought every now and then for the human fosterling who loved them as his family. Where had those years gone? What had brought him here, to this place where the innocent were corrupt and where the sunlight and flowers of summertime had not bloomed in years?

_This is the world. _

If he would face more things like this on the path to becoming the man he was meant to be, Aragorn yearned to be nothing more than Estel. But what exactly could he become anymore?

_It is not a weakness to be afraid. _

He looked over at Legolas. The elf was sweating...and elves did not sweat. They did not feel extremities. It was the fear. It emanated from them, lending support to the ultimatum on their lives. Aragorn knew that his concentration was slowly slipping away from him...after so much time doubting himself and saying that he just wanted to die sometimes, Aragorn had realized that he very much did not want to die. He wanted to see the twins again, Rivendell again, Arwen again. He even wanted to see the rangers again and to finish his journey to the land of the horse-lords. But that was beginning to seem more and more like a distant dream.

_The path ends here; there is no journey left. _

And there was one huge, terrible difference between this and the nightmare...

This did not seem real, it _was _real.

* * *

Aragorn did not need to be told when they were drawing near. Legolas' breathing quickened and the elf kept looking at the ground with wide eyes, as if he could recognize every bit of this path, even as obscured with filth as it was. Aragorn himself could not understand what was happening or what was going to happen to them...but he knew that Legolas' reaction to their surroundings came from the fact that the prince understood it perfectly. If he could, he would have reached out, trying to give his friend the slightest comfort with a touch or a word. But even if he had...would it have made any difference? The human was still young and had never been in this dark place, and Caleil was simply his predator—not his brother. As close as they had become, Aragorn could not help Legolas, nor could he help himself. There would be no escape for Legolas, even if they survived this. The thought made him feel more helpless than ever. 

The Orcs began to slow. At first, all Aragorn could see was more bending black boughs, but as their captors cut down the impediments a structure came into view. It was a small fortress; rotting wood walls rose up until they were obscured in the treetops, and simple double doors stood in the center of the wall that faced them. An ornate lock stood out boldly at their convergence. The place behind the constructed wooden panels obviously contained a large expanse; he could not even guess how many yards wide the walls were, but they were massive. As Aragorn looked up he realized that any kind of roof or covering was not even visible. Who could have built this so deep in the woods?

The path they were on had become very narrow, and as Ancadur went forward to knock on the door, Aragorn and Legolas were pushed together so that their shoulders touched. Aragorn could feel the elf trembling and knew that his friend held horrible recognition for this stronghold. He whispered the elf's name under his breath. The Orcs and Men could not hear him, but he knew that Legolas could.

The elven prince turned to his young human companion, and the fear in his expression had become nothing more than dead acceptance.

"_Le na vellon. Hebo estel," _he whispered. Legolas nodded, and his trembling stilled slightly. Aragorn could feel his friend's harsh breathing against his skin. In unspoken comfort, they leaned against one another, their heads touching lightly.

Ancadur continued to knock. "Lord Caleil?" he asked in confusion. Then, the man leaned close to the door, as though someone was whispering to him. Aragorn felt Legolas stiffen.

When he turned back to the company, Ancadur looked relatively amused. He beckoned to Legolas. "Your services are needed, my prince," he said sardonically. Legolas was hustled forward, and he was abruptly parted from his friend. However, Aragorn couldn't help but be proud of the elf as Legolas shrugged off the arms pushing him and walked forward on his own accord, his head held high despite his wounded dignity.

"Cut his bonds."

One of the Orcs—somewhat reluctantly—stepped forward and freed Legolas' chafed wrists. Aragorn watched as the elf rubbed them absentmindedly and went to stand before the door.

Ancadur motioned to the lock, and his smile widened. The circle of Orcs around the elf was still too tight for Legolas to make any kind of escape. "Open it."

_How can Legolas know how to open this fortress?_

Whatever game Caleil was playing, Aragorn sensed that this was one of its most twisted and perverse aspects.

Legolas did as he was bidden. The Orcs had not beaten or done anything to the elf that could truly physically hurt him, but from Aragorn's point of view, Legolas was as submissive as if they had. He knew that it came from inside. The lock turned fluidly beneath the prince's fingers, even though it had been jammed with loose growth over the years and looked extremely rusted. The second Legolas was done inserting the combination, the Orcs grabbed hold of his arms again, and Ancadur pushed the door open.

Those holding Aragorn shoved him onward, and the ranger tried to hold his head up just as Legolas had as he was led into what might be the last place he saw in life.

* * *

After all of this waiting and thinking, they were finally here. 

Legolas stared forward, taking in every detail that he saw. Everything sparked a memory, but the place had been completely changed. The element of decay caused twisted trees to hang in rotting, broken formations, and they gave forth a subtle stench of that long dead as well as elongated shadow. Memory said that they should be tall and proud. Memory painted the picture of crisp golden leaves, weighted with the dew of morning, falling in a slow continuum when touched by autumn's breath. But now all that existed of those leaves were their cracked, brown carcasses, strewn in remnants on defiled ground. The single flower that had been growing in death's wake remained crushed; never had it been given a chance for life. Barely rising from a patch of good soil, it had been grasping for breath and choked from the beginning. Silver eyes lost their luster upon seeing that once-glistening stream as an inky, depthless pool of darkness. The bitter confinement of being bound and the thought of having to return here had been painful, but seeing it and experiencing it was worse...for the environs were made complete in their fallen existence by the destroyed individual. He stood there now, completely shrouded by the shadow of a centrally-located tree that, in its withered state, would never again be blessed by a moonlit spectacle.

"Caleil," Legolas heard himself say.

Caleil had been leaning against the moon-tree, nonchalantly cleaning a blood-stained knife with a white cloth. Legolas paled at the thought of who that blood might belong to. The elder son of Thranduil then turned, and walked towards his prisoners with an unfathomable air about him. "We meet again, brother. And I'm glad to see you've brought your pet human."

The younger brother's expression hardened. He tried to take a step towards Caleil, but was restrained, and then the words were out before he could even control them: "Why here?"

Caleil surveyed Legolas with interest, and walked forward until they were only inches apart, each staring into what was nearly a mirror of his own face. "Why _not _here?" Caleil asked silkily.

He continued, but swung slightly sideways so that he was addressing Aragorn as well. "It is an ideal place. Far away, where nobody will hear or care to look, not even the guards of Mirkwood. Those few who dared to venture here have been disposed of. Out here..." Caleil reached out and brushed Aragorn's hair from the ranger's face, turning the human's face so that they were forced to lock eyes. "Nobody will hear you scream."

Legolas struggled against the iron grip the Orcs had on his arm. Seeing Caleil treat Aragorn with such utter contempt disgusted him, not to mention the look of horror on his friend's eyes, barely masked by a blank expression. He attempted to draw Caleil's attention back to him. If they had any hope of escape, it was Aragorn; the young human was not assaulted with the same memories as Legolas, and the prince could only hope that the ranger would be able to stave off his fear somehow. "You know that's not what I meant, Caleil!"

Caleil gave a backward glance over his shoulder to regard his brother. Without turning, he spoke to the Orcs. "Release him."

Legolas suddenly found himself free to walk of his own accord. His first instinct would have been to lunge forward and attack the vile creature that shared his blood, and he would not have hesitated if he had been the only captive. But they could use Aragorn against him. His failure to cooperate would most certainly do more damage than good, and he was not prepared to take that chance. He stepped forward at Caleil's impatient beckoning. Try as he might, Legolas could not avoid the memory of his brother playfully summoning him in the same way when they were children. He wondered briefly if even that little detail was done on purpose. Was every minute, memory-stirring action of Caleil's completely contrived?

As he walked forward to where his brother stood beside the moon-tree, Legolas had to fight the rising panic within him. His fondest recollections would be his greatest weakness and Caleil played expertly to those weaknesses.

He realized for the first time that Caleil wore no shirt underneath his black cloak. When turned at a certain angle, Legolas could make out the skin of his chest beneath the folds. He watched as Caleil slowly slid the cloak off of his shoulders. The slow, deliberate movement worked the sinewy muscles of the older elf's back, and revealed his lithe form.

It also revealed a myriad of hideous scars that drew a sharp intake of breath from Aragorn.

"Come here, Legolas. Come and look at this."

Caleil was looking up through the boughs of the moon-tree, but his hard eyes reflected only emptiness and Legolas knew that there was no beauty above those branches. The younger prince was stoic as he stepped to the side of his brother and gazed upwards. There was nothing; only shameful leaves that twisted and curled into each other, trying to avoid any semblance of light and hungering for darkness.

Legolas found that Caleil was now behind him, and his brother's breath caressed his skin as soft words were whispered into his ear. _"Do you remember what we did here, brother?" _

Before he could even fathom an answer, strong arms slammed him against the tree trunk so hard that the breath was knocked from his lungs, and he was held in that vulnerable position. The coarse indentations of the bark were imbedded in his skin. Instinctively, Legolas tilted his head sideways so that his cheek was on the tree rather than the front of his face.

A blinding pain suddenly struck his back, and a small, involuntary cry escaped his lips. Aragorn distantly called out his name. Legolas gritted his teeth and pressed his body further into the tree; whatever had struck him had the quick precision of a whip, the steel bite of a sword, and the forceful weight of a club. Without warning, it came down on the same spot. Legolas felt the liquid warmth of his own blood lace the skin on his back.

"_Legolas!" _

The elf felt a rush offrustration towards Aragorn. Did the ranger not know that he was giving Caleil the twisted satisfaction of ripping apart the foundations of their friendship?

As his brother's infernal weapon tore at his tissue and muscles time and time again, it became harder to resist the screams that lay dormant in his throat, and harder to keep his weak legs from crumpling uselessly to the ground. Tears flowed freely from his eyes without the slightest bit of restraint. In the moments of hiatus in the midst of Caleil's brutality, Legolas would try to keep his mind focused by seeing if he could keep count of how many times he had been struck. It was perverse, but at least it kept him from drifting into delirium or madness.

"Do you know where I learned this, ranger?" asked Caleil, halting the beatings for a few blessed seconds. Legolas heard metal sliding between his brother's fingers; it sounded strangely like chain links. "From your honorable race. They taught me many useful tricks, and I could tell you exactly how each one feels. This simple use for chains is surprisingly efficient, mustn't you agree? You should be glad that the two of you will finally pay for their crimes."

Legolas silently doubted that Caleil's cruelty would end after he and Aragorn were dead.

Aragorn mumbled something pleadingly and Caleil laughed harshly in response. While they had their exchange, Legolas found his footing and tried to move his shoulder blades, wincing at the pain that shot through them every time he did so. If he could only regain control of the bones and muscles in his back, he would have some sort of dominion over Caleil's imposed agony. But even the slightest movement caused whatever was holding his arms—an Orc or human, he supposed—to tighten their grip. His legs trembled slightly as he fought to remain standing.

Just as Legolas felt that he was gaining control, though, Caleil grew weary of whatever Aragorn was begging him to do.

"_Watch it and laugh, king of men, just as your kinsmen did when the one cringing in pain was Thranduil's other son!" _

In an instant, all of the resolve Legolas had carefully built was torn away again, along with the flesh that was ripped off his back. It struck vulnerable areas with deathly precision. One moment it would be clouted horizontally along the back of his shoulders, chafing the thin skin there until Legolas was sure his bone was exposed. The next, a blow to his lower back would make him sink further into the ground.

He still managed to halt his cries...but it took a supreme amount of effort to do so. If he let down those barriers for even a second, would all of these screams come rushing out in one anguished torrent?

The pain became ritually blinding; it hovered about him and consumed him, but managed to surprise him with each blow by sending a new wave of torture throughout him. It was almost rhythmic. Legolas found that he could hardly catch his breath—opening his mouth might give him a means of crying out. He wondered if Caleil had been screaming by this point, and something in the corner of his mind was ironically angry that somebody had done this to his brother. But all it took to crush that notion was the reminder that it _was _Caleil doing this to him. That knowledge lent weight to each stroke of the weapon, and power to each spurt of blood that ruptured through his skin.

Legolas could not know at exactly what point his legs gave way, but he finally found himself kneeling, with his arms still secured higher around the tree. Aragorn was shouting in protest; he could do enough yelling for the both of them, in Legolas' opinion. All he could concentrate on in his world was another strike...and another...and another...and another...

"Please."

Legolas was as startled by the sound of his own voice as Caleil was. He hadn't meant to say it; it was a whimpering, nearly inaudible plea, and it managed to stay the older elf's vengeful hand for a short time. The relief won over Legolas' shamefulness at being weak. He uttered his request again. "Please. Stop."

It was not the sound of a captive begging for mercy. Instead, it was a little brother, looking to his older brother for relief and protection. It caught Caleil completely off-guard, and there was silence.

Flashes of him and Caleil sharing a night beneath the stars so very long ago came to Legolas, drifting hazily, suspended surreally in a mind that barely clung to consciousness. It went hand-in-hand with the pain. They welded together and consumed his entire world, and when he looked up into the shadowed tree of remembrance, he could see its past, present, and future existence. Once he had been able to hear the song of its creation. Every tree sang softly for the elves, and their unearthly music had once radiated throughout Greenwood the Great. But now, as Legolas looked upon this one in particular, it seemed cold and indifferent. It was as though it was disgusted by the sons of Thranduil. Although it had long ago been cast into darkness, these elves were taking advantage of its degradation and feeding blood into its roots.

"It's your friend's turn tomorrow," Caleil hissed in his ear. Then, the elder brother gave Legolas one last blow, this time across the head. It was just hard enough to knock him unconscious.

Legolas' arms slipped to his side and his head reeled. His body sank to the ground, where he was roughly accommodated on a bed of thorns and needles that nestled deep into every gash and bruise. His splayed fingertips brushed the superficies of the stream that had once given the moon-tree spectacle its aquatic aspect. The water was now thick and clammy to touch, and as he drew his trembling hand back to him he saw pools of crimson sliding gracefully into its depths.

It was the last thing he saw before giving in to unconsciousness' dark envelopment. That was his blood; he witnessed the convergence of red and black, of blood and tainted water, all underneath where there had once been a mingling of every heavenly light imaginable.

"_I've never seen anything like it, brother." _

"_There isn't anything else like it, anywhere in the world. Just here..."_

Just here...

Legolas moaned slightly before slipping into a dreamless, shadowed void. His brother stood over him and secured the bloodstained manacles that had been his torture device to the unconscious elf's wrists.

From where he stood numbly, though, the slimmest hope began to appear in Aragorn's mind. He had seen that moment of hesitation in Caleil—that moment of doubt, when the realization of his brother's pain had hit him and summoned the re-awakening of a person who was all but gone.

That slight window could, in the end, be their salvation. Aragorn clung fervently to the dim light of hope as he himself was knocked into oblivion; after all, he would need that slight motivation come morrow. He had seen Legolas endure so much, and yet not utter a sound, and Aragorn prayed that the same resolve could carry him through torture and agony. After all, he had screamed at the shock of his warning cut. Did his mortal blood prevent him from having Legolas' strength?

_Eru, give me courage. _

"_It's your friend's turn tomorrow..." _

* * *


	14. Chapter 14: Haunted Eyes

**_Yes, I know that I am worthless scum and incapable of updating regularly. Be nice to me, since I have acknowledged this fact...and because I am making a puppy face at you. Ok, so that might just look disturbing, never mind..._**

**_Thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 13 regardless of the fact that I fail at life! I hope you're all still around and that you'll review this chapter too. Much lof lof lof. _**

**_Disclaimer: muheheheheheheheeeeee! Wow, hyper!_**

* * *

Chapter 14—Haunted Eyes

_I feel the world beneath the bloodshed  
__I look into your eyes  
__I see the glint of my last moments  
__Reflected for all of time. _

_Pressed between one reality  
__And your mirthless, depthless touch  
__I know the earth rests here in darkness  
__And drinks heavily in lust. _

_There's a single thought to surface now  
__A memory of forever  
__Doused in crimson, it fails my heart  
__Because it pictures us together..._

The night was a brief hiatus and "tomorrow" was soon the present; a present in which it was Aragorn rather than Legolas who was against the tree, every precise blow wrenching his skin apart and sending him into a fierce impact against the bark. He could see nothing. Even the haze of the world was beyond him. The plane of his vision was filled with endless black; he was too close to the tree to be able to distinguish its brown hue. The only thing he held to was the voice in his mind that told him to not cry out.

He stubbornly refused to; Legolas' display had convinced him that it was far better not to. But he came dangerously close several times. Ironically, it was Caleil's taunts that kept him from doing so at those moments; Aragorn refused to give Legolas' brother any more satisfaction out of his torment.

When would it stop? Already, Aragorn had been there for what he deemed to be at least near an hour. Though it seemed like little time outside of the situation, every moment was accentuated by pain, and it made that hour a hellish eternity. He could not employ the same tactic Legolas had; should he plead for mercy or ask for it, the dark elf would simply laugh and intensify his attack. There would be no mercy for the representative of the race that had caused his downfall.

But had it really been the torture that had destroyed Caleil?

Aragorn wanted to wonder at it, connect it to Caleil's earlier moment of hesitation; even in the midst of this, his rational thinking fought to surface. But every time there was a second for him to grab at fragments of thoughts, the pain shattered them once more. Every blow was abrupt and he could never prepare himself for it. He was caught beneath a landslide; each time he separated himself from one assault, another was waiting to take its place. The day before, he had seen this done to Legolas and had been convinced that there would be no clarity in the violence—but there was. The physical aspect of what he was feeling was terribly clear. He could feel and sense everything, from the warm, liquid trails of blood running along the muscles of his back to the individual segments of skin that would be brutally ripped away by rusted notches in the chains. It may be that he refused to scream, but his entire body trembled from the sheer effort of keeping itself upright. Not that it needed to—thick, inhuman hands grasped his arms, and Aragorn knew that they would force him to stand if his knees should give way. It seemed very probable that this would occur soon. After all, his delirium was intensifying, accelerated by both Caleil's untiring blows and the constant impact of his head against the tree.

"Enough."

Aragorn was past caring what this meant. All he knew was that this break in the continuum of the pain was lasting longer than the others had and that the hands that held him were letting his body sag heavily to the ground. The earth was not soft or comforting, but at least it was not his enemy. He leaned against the moon-tree and wished its bark would reach out to consume him.

Caleil still stood with the chains in hand, but chose to say nothing to the bleeding captive at his feet. He nonchalantly dropped the blood-streaked weapons in front of Aragorn so that the man could have clear view of them. Silently, he turned his gazes to each of his followers who were about him; several were still around the tree while a few others were holding Legolas, who had long ago resigned himself to silence instead of pleas for Aragorn. It had not taken him long to find that they fell on deaf ears. At the moment, he simply stared at Caleil, and his expression mirrored mixed emotions of guilt, regret, and hatred. Caleil graced his younger brother with a single contemptuous smirk before turning away to Ancadur, who was beside the moon-tree, his hands spotted with Aragorn's blood.

"Leave us," Caleil commanded.

Without any hesitation, all of the orcs, elves, and men in the vicinity turned to leave, heading uniformly for the huge, rotting doors. None turned back or spoke a word. Some left stiffly; they were still obviously uncomfortable with the concentration of authority among them, but soon they were gone nonetheless. Legolas had been freed of their constraints. The younger prince looked to his human friend, deeply concerned and confused, but he made no move to go to Aragorn's aid. The movement might either provoke or amuse his brother, and Legolas wanted neither.

Only Caleil remained standing between his two captives, his scarred chest and back exposed to the shadowed world. His skin glistened with sweat and bright crimson stains. Vague interest was all he showed in his prisoners; he glanced at them briefly and preferred to walk forward, examining the walls of their enclosure passively. It was only then that Legolas dared to take a few steps and kneel beside Aragorn. The two shared a glance and despite the obvious physical and mental strain evident in them both, they silently reassured one another. Legolas put a hand lightly on Aragorn's shoulder, hoping that it offered some comfort. He wished Caleil would speak. His brother's silence meant he was thinking, and Caleil's intricate thoughts were his most deadly weapon.

Caleil's voice came in a deadly drawl when he decided to speak, still taking careful paces with his back turned to Aragorn and Legolas.

"It seems impossible, really, for anyone, in a few meager days, to exploit every human weakness and magnify every negative emotion," he said. "You never realize how many there are because they are usually felt in isolation. But those who held me had discovered the secrets of combining them, of mounting humiliation and weariness and loss on top of physical pain. They were able to dominate me because of their fierce command of my mental state. Once the horror of these memories ceased to torment me, I became fascinated by the idea of achieving this level of mastery and decided to make that secret my own, so that it might be efficiently utilized in my greatest endeavors.

"They say that fear is found in what we cannot see or understand. Humiliation is found in exposure and helplessness, while loss is found in the hopelessness of solitude. I experienced all of these in a single night."

He turned back to Aragorn and Legolas, so that the two prisoners could clearly see his haunted eyes and the way he tried to conceal the terror within them. Caleil could not suppress his innate reaction to the nightmare that had ruined his life, though he had no apparent qualms about making that memory a reality for others.

Even in the midst of his pain, Aragorn found his gaze contemptuously lingering on Caleil's expression. He knew Caleil's weakness. Even though he had not yet come up with a way to exploit it, it gave him some comfort to be able to identify it: the power of memory.

When Caleil continued, Aragorn expected him to finish talking about that "single night"—but the reference to the ordeal did not come again.

"We will have this time together every day—just the two of you and myself. I welcome you to attempt anything you desire, but know that there aren't many places to run. Any guards from Mirkwood foolish enough to come here will quickly be eradicated, for remember that I have elves with equally keen sight and hearing under my own leadership."

He grinned slightly; a cruel, painfully enigmatic grin. When he spoke, his tone was that of an authoritative adult instructing a child. "For now, rest. I have matters to attend to, but I will return shortly."

Caleil's movement was fluid and graceful as he swung his cloak about his shoulders and crossed the expanse of the enclosure, even though the apparent grace was marred by the presence of the hideous scars on his bare back. He let the door close softly behind him.

For several long moments, Aragorn and Legolas were silent, allowing themselves to be exactly what they felt like and appeared to be: lonely prisoners, small against the backdrop of vast darkness and unsure when faced with a promise of further pain.

* * *

"He will return soon. I have a feeling he will still be alone."

Legolas was standing as he spoke, and his hand ran gently down the bark of the moon-tree. Aragorn was sitting on the ground somewhere behind him—but he was addressing himself more than the human.

He looked at his hand. Black filth and drying blood flaked off of the skin there.

"What do you plan to do when he does?" asked Aragorn dubiously. Legolas heard the strain in his voice, brought about by the pain of Caleil's brutality, but there was a small amount of the man's almost undying hope present there as well. It gave him the slight courage he needed to continue.

"I need to speak to him," whispered the elven prince quietly. "Even if the outcome is fruitless, I need to let these words out _now..._before this goes any further." He looked back at Aragorn. It may have been day or sunset or evening—regardless of the time, the fort was dark enough to make his companion a hunched silhouette that sank steadily into the earth.

Aragorn attempted to rise. As he locked his pleading gaze on Legolas, the shine of his eyes was clear amid black surroundings. "But there are so many things he could do to you! I will be of little use if he should hurt you."

Legolas smiled sadly and indulgently. "We will be hurt anyway, my friend."

Aragorn hung his head, resigning himself. He let his body slide back to the ground. "Be careful."

"I will be...if I can afford to be."

"But Legolas, I wonder if it would not be wiser to wait, to analyze his weaknesses before we attempt to weaken him ourselves with our words. It seems that our words are powerless at the moment. _We _are powerless."

Legolas' hand pressed suddenly into the bark, and sharp ridges stung his skin. He welcomed the pain. His stare wandered back to the bleak landscape past the tree; he could no longer focus on Aragorn, because only Caleil kept running through his mind. "There will be no other time. These memories destroy me; when he tortures me, my mind deteriorates, and soon all of my reasoning will be gone, swept away in a vicious torrent.

"Aragorn, he is my _brother!"_ His voice unconsciously elevated; the twisted madness that Caleil had instilled in him was beginning to creep forward, and the perversity of their entire situation was starting to take its toll. Legolas' voice was carried out to the world rather than to Aragorn. What he was feeling encompassed everything: the past, present and future; the place inside of himself, the place inside of these walls, and this entire place, his home of Middle-Earth and the sea beyond it.

In that moment, as he truly began to contemplate everything, it seemed that his hurt and regret touched it all.

He didn't realize that he had been repeating it:

"_He is my brother...he is my brother...he is my brother..."_

Aragorn forced himself to stand on his weak legs. He stumbled over to his friend and draped a scarred arm around the elf's shoulders. They leaned against one another, searching for the support and comfort of another's heart, of knowing that somebody—if only one person—was on their side.

"Use your memories," whispered Aragorn. "They may be the only thing to stop him...maybe even bring him back."

Legolas shook his head gently. "He is dead. The dead do not return to the living."

But he would use the memories nonetheless.

Both prisoners immediately straightened at the sound of the door creaking open. It was at somewhat of a distance from them; simply a large shape that moved uniformly in the shadows. But a pale hand had opened it, and a gold-haired figure, a contrast of paleness and black, was beginning to step through.

"Legolas," said Aragorn in a breathy whisper. "He said he experienced all of those emotions at night. I have been looking long through the trees, and it is still day."

Legolas nodded stiffly. "I am also afraid, Aragorn. I fear that neither of us will feel anything but terror tonight."

* * *

The only indication of the puddles of blood that soaked the ground was the occasional glisten of the deep liquid, a tiny sliver of bright white and a crimson shine around it. Their skin appeared ash gray in the absence of light, and the rivulets of blood obtrusive black veins. There was no question: these guards were dead. Some may have had horizontal slits running across their throats, while others sported ghastly wounds that penetrated deep into their chests, but none had stayed alive for more than a few minutes.

Caleil surveyed the work of his servants mistrustfully. These guards had come looking for Salen—how many more would be sent to look for _them? _Those under his command had made a quick job of annihilating the threat, but there were only three elven guards in this group. He feared what their odds of victory would be when faced with a number that outdid the amount of elves he commanded, or even the full amount of individuals in the group. The process of destroying his prisoners would have to take up less time than planned if he wanted to avoid detection.

Silently, he cursed his father Thranduil and all those in his employment. He had carefully crafted his procedure for so long, only to have it rushed. How could revenge be carried out within set parameters?

"What will we do if more should come?" Ancadur asked. Of everyone, he had the bloodiest knife.

Caleil looked boldly into the other elf's eyes. He hoped that none of his doubt was reflected there and that it could not be read in his voice. "You will destroy them."

"Now," he continued. "I must return to my guests. Do not disrupt us again unless you are explicitly told to do so."

Some showed their assent with a slight bow, while others only murmured agreement. Caleil made a mental note of remembering to establish more order among his followers; no true leader only received partial obedience. He needed to require it in full.

However, they, at the moment, were the least of Caleil's problems, and he did not devote many of his precious thoughts to their behavior. Instead, he turned back to the fortress and thought about what lay beyond it: his victims, his prisoners, his captives...his captors. Unknowingly, they sealed his fate; if he failed with them, all would fail. The weaker of the two opposing forces was the one that decided the rules. Had it been a mistake to bring Legolas here? Caleil's motive had been his desire to assert his strength and overcome his memories, but he now feared that his past might work against him and cause that strength to dwindle.

As he worked the lock, Caleil focused his every thought on the task before him. This required every minute of his thinking, every ounce of his determination, every fiber of his being.

* * *

The hours drew on, bringing the impending night ever nearer and making the darkness an absolute, choking entity. For many of those hours, the three within the fortress said nothing. Aragorn sat alone. He still wished for the earth to rise and engulf him, to be rid of the pain and regret and guilt that tainted every part of him. He could hardly be seen; he was crouched in a far corner, only glancing at Legolas every now and then. The bitter isolation was the only way Aragorn felt he could think—and give Legolas time to confront Caleil.

That time had now come. Caleil had been wandering, glaring, and sharpening knives for hours, and his knowing smiles made Aragorn understand that he was purposefully prolonging the unknown. Now, however, he stood beside the moon-tree. His brother stood only a few feet away.

"There are some things I must ask you, Caleil," said Legolas. His voice was level, as was his gaze. Aragorn could only hope that his friend would maintain composure.

Caleil turned to face Legolas and offered only a cold smirk. "It amuses me that you think your questions are of any importance to you now."

Aragorn saw no amusement in that smirk.

Legolas did not so much as flinch at his brother's words and expression. "Then it will be of no consequence for me to ask, and of even less consequence for you to answer."

"I agree. Ask, then, little brother." He spread his arms wide in a gesture of openness. "I have nothing to hide from you."

"What will you do when you are through with me?"

Caleil seemed perplexed by the question and struggled to maintain his condescending mask. "I will move on to my next endeavor, just as I moved onto this after I last killed."

Aragorn felt a pang of sorrow for his friend, sorrow deeper than he could ever have conjured for himself. Legolas could not hide a slight, almost imperceptible reaction to words that flippantly dismissed his value; he could not pretend that they did not pierce some level of his defenses.

But, as always, the prince continued. Even now, he refused to let his own pain stop him from reaching out to his brother one last time.

"Will you bury me? Will you take me to the sea?" When Caleil said nothing, Legolas added a final question as an afterthought. "Will you forget me?"

The growth in Caleil's weakness was evident in everything from his posture to his tone of voice. "Your corpse deserves no privileged treatment."

"Once I am gone, I suppose the corpse will not matter," replied Legolas, taking a single step closer to Caleil. "But I would appreciate an answer to my final question. _Will you forget me?" _

"I never forget anyone."

Both Aragorn and Legolas were taken aback by this answer. Legolas seemed about to question further, but Caleil silenced him by continuing. The dark elf had turned again and spoke out to the forest beyond the walls.

"I never forget the look in each set of eyes right before death comes. Each face is burned forever in my mind with its individual look of horror, acceptance, insanity, or pleading. That memory overrides all the others—and once you both are gone, that is how I will remember you."

Legolas' hand reached out lightly to lay on the bark of the tree. Caleil had walked forward so that he was now on the opposite side of it; his younger brother followed, creating less space between them again. "You say that memory overrides all others."

"All of them."

"Will it override the memory of riding down to our favorite grove of trees in midsummer, before Greenwood was covered in darkness? Will it replace all of the times we snuck down at night to sample Father's wine, though we had been told not to?"

Caleil gave no reaction. He only stood, quietly and numbly, his head turned slightly to take in Legolas' words.

"Will the look in my dying eyes follow you for eternity, rather than the look in my childhood eyes when you first showed me the wonder of this tree? Will your satisfaction at killing me be as great as our satisfaction was the day you were given Father's highest military honors? Will you have the same sense of accomplishment that you did the day you taught me how to shoot a bow?"

Legolas voice was impassioned now, powered by his innate need for his brother's love and salvation. "Perhaps you stare at that wall so many times because you remember that it was the wall that took us longest to build! Perhaps you push our bloody bodies to the ground because you are trying to forget that we once planted flowers in that very earth! You wash your knives in a stream now black with filth and soiled debris, trying to ignore the fact that we once washed our faces in its untainted waters!

"You, Caleil, seek to kill me, _because deep down you are fighting the temptation to save me!" _

The dark elf whirled, catching the side of his brother's bruised face in a fierce, backhanded blow. He swung the weight of his body with the movement and allowed himself to fall with Legolas until he had achieved a straddling position. His thumbs pressed roughly into the younger elf's neck, giving him control until he had managed to expertly slide a knife that had been strapped to the interior of his cloak into his hand. He used it to draw a cruel, jagged line down the side of Legolas' face.

Aragorn was already on his feet, but Caleil only had to glance upwards and press his knife to Legolas' neck to stop the human's advance.

Caleil bent down and whispered harshly in Legolas' ear:

"I kill you because there is nothing, _nothing _in the world that would give me greater pleasure."

He then pulled them both to their feet and slammed Legolas against the tree. Aragorn ignored the earlier threat against Legolas' life and rushed forward, not knowing what he would do once he reached the place where the dark elf dealt his brother a bombardment of painfully placed blows, both with his fists and with his knives.

Aragorn had no time to think before he was soon included in the midst of them both, but he would later realize the truth of this blatantly physical attack:

It was the beginning of the breakdown of sanity and establishment of chaos, the beginning of the decision of their fate, the beginning of Caleil's most vengeful torture...

And, above all, the beginning of the deterioration of what had come to exist between the three of them.

_You've taken the furthermost extreme  
__Where all is red and black  
__I pay because I am the courage  
__That you prove you'll always lack. _

_And now I pray I slake your thirst  
__As I fall on bloodied ground  
__I pray I can forgive all that  
__You've yet to bring about. _

_So now we're still, our gazes locked  
__How I wish that you would cry!  
__You only wait with cold acceptance  
__As, alone, I die. _

* * *


	15. Chapter 15: Resurfacing

Chapter 15—Resurfacing 

_A single night  
__Resurfaces  
__Agonized dreams  
__Return  
__A dark emotion  
__Is here again;  
It arrives to burn and kill. _

"Master...is that _your _blood?"

Caleil graced Ancadur with a brief, murderous glare as he exited the fort and found himself in the company of his followers. "Some of it, perhaps. Are you afraid that my prisoners may be too much for me to handle, Ancadur? If so, your concern is touching and unwarranted." He re-fastened his cloak, trying to ignore the fact that the thick, dark liquid coated his fingers and made doing so difficult.

He had become quite adept at discerning the time of day in the perpetual gloom of Mirkwood. It was his sole thought now, and as he made his way through the cluster of reeking orcs, dark elves, and corrupted men, Caleil scanned the trees so that he might get a good glimpse of the sky beyond them.

Finally, it found him. He caught the sight of a twilight sky, bordering on darkness but still holding to a dwindling source of light. The stars were beginning to peer out from behind varying shades of deep gray and pale purple. This satisfied him sufficiently. He turned back to the eager stares that awaited him and contemplated the extent of the eagerness he saw there.

He had gained himself a startlingly efficient and deadly following; everyone here could kill without question, and, by whatever strange turn of events had led them to him, they would do so at his command. The one thing that separated this mindless collection of murderers from the last he commanded was the fact that these before him would never betray him.

He had made one dire mistake with the last group: he had failed to instill fear. It was because of that failure that he bore these scars.

"Night approaches swiftly," Caleil declared at last. "You have been given your instructions and I expect they will be carried out to perfection. It will begin on my word. Now go to your stations."

They did so, each going by in an indistinguishable blur until he was alone again. They were only too ready to collect their knives and begin their work, and Caleil now realized that he was only too ready for that work to be over and done with.

He stared out into the darkness. His back faced his fortress, and any exiting it would have seen only a black cloak that swept along the ground and a crown of golden hair, a great and terrible contrast in a person of the same nature. For him, this was history repeating and improving itself. Caleil knew exactly what would happen tonight because he had been the first to live it.

Subconsciously, his hand had pushed past the fold of his cloak and he found that it lay gently across his chest, caressing age-worn scars that never seemed to fade. They were the remnant of his experience on this night. Caleil wondered how the men who had tortured him had invented this particularly intricate method, or why they would have decided to use something so extreme against him. He supposed that time had worn on them in its own way. They each had individual, hateful, perhaps vengeful motives, and for whatever reason, those feelings had been extracted on him.

The memories returned incessantly. Caleil could recall something far greater than pain, something penetrating far deeper. Something that had taken an immeasurable toll on his spirit. He remembered the sight of an impossible illusion, fierce and real in a way that no illusion should be, fueled by pain brought on by dancing, mocking shadows.

That night had sealed his heart off forever.

_Black shapes, weaving in and out of the fire..._

_Sharp, sporadic pain, coming from a source I could not see..._

_The sight of my own blood covering my body to such an extent that I could not see my skin..._

_Life, life and raw power, both turning themselves against me when I had done nothing to vex them..._

_Some sort of strange innocence and purity beyond it...something that had been so obviously cast aside and disregarded that it could not help but make its mark..._

_Terror such as I had never felt. _

No, he had no notion of how his captors had managed to invent something so profoundly devastating, nor what terrible motives had driven them to do so. But whatever its source, he had perfected it. He had taken the illusionist aspect to another level. Its culmination was now even more artistically performed, and the entire process made more unreal, more traumatizing.

However, even as master of this method, Caleil wanted the night to go quickly, if only to stop the memories. That old fear gnawed at him constantly; it was a small feeling, but persistent enough to make him uneasy. He did not want any of those experiences to resurface for him...not when he had worked so long to make sure it only surfaced for others. Pain had been a gift for him—it clarified the truth of the nature of right and wrong. He was passing on that gift now that it had been fulfilled in him.

But just because it was a gift did not mean it was a mercy, and because it had been a revelation for him did not mean that it would be anything more than a horror for others. Caleil would be dead before he showed mercy again. He was killing his victims—not doing them any favors. There was no disillusionment in his mind concerning this.

Caleil realized suddenly that he had been thinking for an overly long time; too many thoughts at this time could be dangerous to him, yet here he was, staring out into nothingness. He forced his eyes to regain focus. Promptly, his mind did the same. He knew that it was about now that his prisoners were receiving their rations of food and water. They would consume them, driven by thirst and hunger, for not even their keen minds would suspect that drug-induced fever would be part of their torture tonight.

He stood there for an amount of time that he would not remember in the hours that directly followed or in the hours he had left to live. What he _would _remember was the feel of the night's approach—slowly at first, a creeping presence slowly masking the twilight, and then a rapid onslaught of black as swift and unnerving as having a blindfold thrown over his eyes when he could already see little enough. Whatever the process, the sky beyond the trees soon contained darkness devoid of any hues or variations. It was then that Caleil knew everything was ready to begin.

His assertion was accompanied by clamor within the walls of the fortress: the beginning of frightened and confused yells, of rushed footsteps and confusion that threatened to cloud even his senses, detached from the place as he was. The fire began almost immediately. The stench of things already dead and rotten was increased tenfold when flames touched them, spreading their odor and staining it further with their familiar scent of smoke and ash. All the while Caleil remained still and composed. As everything closed in, he became a slave to what he could see and touch and taste and feel. The traces of thought evaporated. The memories subsided, rendered unnecessary as their events were resurrected in the world of the living.

_It has begun. I wait only to act as its end. _

He would not turn back towards the structure until the screams and fire and shadows had drawn on for many long hours of the night.

* * *

Aragorn did not know at what point everything changed from horrid clarity to hazy disorientation. He could see the world plainly—it all remained before him. But it would spin and evaporate in small snatches, seemingly of its own accord. Maybe it was some aftermath from the fight earlier...at least, he hoped that was the case. He hoped the small rations he could not help but indulge in had not been tainted by some sort of drug or poison. It brought a new fear upon him: the fear that he could not control at least his own relation to what was around him. Aragorn had wanted his wits about him tonight. After Caleil promised something so vague and terrible, he knew that his mind had to be operating clearly.

"Aragorn."

Any sign of these same symptoms were at first unnoticeable in Legolas. Aragorn had less composure with his body; he would sway helplessly one moment and find sure footing the next. As his companion walked towards him, it seemed that the elf did not face the same effects, whatever the source. But Aragorn soon noticed the tiny movements that betrayed Legolas' unsteadiness: a hand gently pressing against the wall to keep himself upright, a tiny limp that indicated uneven footfalls.

"Yes...I feel it too," the ranger replied, not needing the question to be spoken. "We have been poisoned and were foolish enough to let it be so."

"Caleil has connections to brews from Mordor, elven realms, and the world of Men. I do not wish to know what poisons might be at his disposal."

Aragorn leaned against the wall and let himself slide to the ground along it, welcoming the clear sensation of pain brought about by splinters of wood cutting roughly into the healing, tender skin on his back. He let out a slight moan. "Something to destroy what we think and emphasize what we feel and sense."

"Like animals," Legolas said as he knelt beside his friend. His normally graceful movements were touched with ungainliness. "But he knows that even animals can feel fear and pain."

Aragorn smiled mirthlessly. "We should have informed him that we already feel both in great quantity."

The elf did not smile back; he merely looked stoically ahead, trying to blink away the clouds that were forming before his eyes. "He must maximize every detail...he cannot simply kill, cannot simply torture, cannot simply imprison. Therein lies his cruelty." He looked up now, feeling logical speech slipping from him. Aragorn said nothing at his side.

The sky was spinning. Pinpoints of stars were blurred behind the trees and came tumbling down in his sight as though the constellations had come to life, chaotically fighting for a place in the heavens even as they hurtled towards the earth. When that torrent reached Legolas, it consumed him. He was plunged into an otherworldly night barely recognizable as sleep. Aragorn had been claimed by it only moments before, and it was there, sleeping against one another, that their torturers would find them a few hours later as they entered with torches and knives and motiveless evil...

* * *

Aragorn promptly found himself in the unbelievable reality of an ominous nightmare. This time, however, he felt the transition, from sleep instead of into it; an emergence into the real world instead of an awakening into a fantasy world. What he would soon learn was that no matter how tangible and horrifying a dream can be, there is nothing so horrifying as having that same experience translated into the world of the living and the breathing.

The touch of Legolas' body against his was savagely ripped away. When he looked fervently around, however, his vision could not focus; when he tried to stand, his muscles refused to comply. He could make out shapes. At first he thought he was looking at a tree with illuminated leaves, but then it moved. The strong arms that he had thought to be branches flourished with obvious life and precision, and the torch that he had thought to be leaves cast its dancing light onto the face of a black gargoyle that moved quickly away. The figure backed out into the darkness that had engulfed the world, but Aragorn was left with the fear that it would return. He did not know what it was—if it had ever been Orc, Elf, or Man, it was only evil now, and he was as helplessly afraid of it as he was powerless to stop it. In the shifting world, he could scarcely even grasp the concept of his own identity.

The haunting silhouettes moved deftly about in the night, blending into their shadowed surroundings so expertly that the only way to discern their position was to follow the uncertain light of the torches, wavering rhythmically against an empty expanse. Aragorn could only watch with steadily mounting horror as the flames were lowered to the black sheet of the ground...

He could only watch as they began to spread.

The stagnant dark that had previously existed was now nothing more than a backdrop to the all-consuming fire. They rose ravenously, throwing sudden heat and red light over the entire world, a world that had lost all features except for its new pattern of red against black. Aragorn's dread increased dramatically when he recognized that world—it was the same world that had characterized the nightmare that would stand out in his mind forever. Terror of the unknown mingled with fear of the familiar and rose into a chaotic panic that swept all semblances of clarity from his mind. For a few moments he clung to memories and concerns for Legolas, trying frantically to concentrate on finding his friend somewhere in this demonic illusion, but even that was soon gone.

He was aware that several figures were drawing near to him, but try as he might he could not move. They were approaching from either side. If he tilted his head, they seemed to be nothing more than extensions of the wall he was leaning against, because the colors that differentiated the two no longer existed and the black figures adhered to the rotting wooden barrier. They blended into it and separated themselves rhythmically, and Aragorn tried desperately to stumble away as they came closer. Their presence was suffocating. The fear of their approach was so stifling that he found himself unable to scream.

Then, suddenly, they were upon him. Slow, calculated movements suddenly accelerated, and they grabbed him with hands that still burned with the heat of the fire. The fierce touch stung his arms, his bare chest; shadows clawed at his hair and eyes, and as they quickly consumed everything around him he was hauled viciously to his unsteady feet. He stumbled a few paces in their arms before being thrown down to the earth once more.

Once he was there, his bare, scarred skin being lacerated by the coarse surface of the ground, there was no rest—not even for a moment. There was no time in which he might look up at the sky, even for the slightest second, to glimpse some tiny sign of hope behind the suffocating exhaust of the fire and the taunting stillness of the night. Even if he had been granted that moment, he might have seen nothing. His blurred sight was made even worse by the fact that this reality was becoming that of a dream.

He knew now that he recognized it. There were stakes in the ground, rooted deep into the decaying soil. They had been planted there sometime during the night. As his arms were stretched and tied to them, he knew that he recognized the agonizing pull in his muscles, the strain on the joints in his shoulder.

_They've done this before..._

He grit his teeth against the unnatural pull.

_Valar, I know this place, I know this position..._

And suddenly, he opened his eyes wide.

He knew precisely what he was experiencing; it had been delivered to him in a way that it had not been delivered to others, in the form of a nightmare that had haunted every night of sleep and now in the form of an actuality that threatened to overcome him. Worse, he knew what came next. There was one thing missing from this. He knew what would now happen to his body, and the thought of it made his blood rush and his mind reel.

The pain was coming now, the blood and the anguish and the fear.

* * *

That night was not a night of darkness, like most. It was not a night of torment, like others, and it was not a night of hopelessness. It was a night of destruction. The obliteration of mind and body, something so powerful and heartless that it was a wonder it could be confined in a single fort. It was strange—within one single forest, there were elves deep in the most peaceful slumber imaginable, while meager miles away there was an unyielding torrent of fire and pain.

The weapons, knives and whips and chains and clubs, were now being wielded by Caleil's followers, who moved in such expert, rapid formations that they appeared to be the mockery of a demon's dance. They were completely indistinguishable to their captives. At one end of the fort, golden hair was caked with blood and eyes that held the knowledge of thousands of years were wide in shock and horror. As they came close to Legolas, struck him and moved quickly away to open the elf for another attack, the prince unconsciously cried out his brother's name. The feeble sound was lost in the roar of the fire.

At the other end, the ranger lay in the same position, undergoing the same rhythmic torture in which pain came in short, quick strokes that did not give him time to make out his attacker. Aragorn's throat was so dry and parched and his mind so far gone that he could not have possibly made a sound. In the hours that would follow this night, he would be unable to remember if he even screamed at all.

This was quite possibly what Caleil remembered most about his own torture: the agony without a source. You lay there, unable to move, with your muscles stretched and burning; meanwhile, the shadows that taunted you rushed by. Your skin would be torn out of nowhere before you even realized it. There was a brief sting—then complete consumption by anguish when the pain sank it. Barely any time passed between this and the next blow. Every time, it was over before it started; there was never time to absorb any part of what was happening.

It was chaos—chaos with a fatal, contradictory rhythm.

Aragorn turned his eyes to the sky, or to whatever shred of it lay beyond the consumption of this world. His body jerked and flinched of its own accord every time he was struck, and although the suddenness and intensity of the pain drew haggard gasps from his throat, he let the direction of his gaze distance his body from his spirit. Every moment he sank deeper into the endless well of suffering—it seemed that with each blow he was being forced into the earth that his blood steadily seeped into. Neither would the fever brought on by the drugs subside. However, Aragorn found that the pain was becoming his connection to reality: his mind could not focus long enough to remember his own name, but by the actuality of his bonds tearing into the skin of his wrists, of his own teeth and nails clenching and drawing blood, and of the gashes that were opening in his chest, he was given the clarity of knowing that he lived. His mind repeated a futile prayer that begged the horror to end and at the same time clung to the pain's physical manifestation. He peered through the madness, through the darkness that contrasted with the glaring light, and the sentiment dormant in his heart rose to confront the insubstantiality of his thoughts.

_There is someone I love that I must live for. _

_There is something I was meant to accomplish in this world. _

_There are friends in my future who I have not yet met. _

_...Valar, who am I that I need so badly to live? _

He moaned almost inhumanly as a particularly savage knife-thrust bit into the tendon of his arm.

_I need to live...I need to live..._

* * *

"_Caleil...Caleil..." _

It was impossible for Caleil to know how his ears picked up the thread of a voice amidst the thousands of other sounds that barraged him from the fort. At first he thought it no more than a hallucination, the familiar phantom of memory plaguing his mind, but his keen senses soon told him otherwise: somehow, he heard Legolas' voice. The fire tried to mask it, but something in Caleil's mind and heart was so used to the exact musical lilt of that voice that he would have heard it no matter how many sounds or voices rose above it.

For a moment, he completely froze. Anyone who knew him would have seen by the insecurity of his stance, by his suddenly quickened breathing, and by the furtiveness in his eyes that he was deeply and abruptly troubled. He had been impacted by an undeniable fact: the sound of Legolas speaking his name had struck a cord in his heart. How could he have prepared himself for this? He had thought his heart numb, but now it was heavy with an impossible ache.

Caleil let the tree beside him bear his weight. He sank against it; an expression of shock had come over his face. The battle that now raged within him contradicted everything he had expected. He could not hear the rhythm of the dance that surrounded Aragorn and Legolas, but something was pounding in his ears. The sound had no origin in the physical world.

He knew that this should not be happening. At this stage, how could his resolve falter? How could his values shift? The past and the present were conflicting; the person he once was fought to destroy the person he had become. He could not allow that carefully built persona to be torn apart.

There was no way he could allow himself to fall now.

_You must end it. Do it now, or you may never be able to. _

Mustering all the strength and hatred he could, Caleil turned back towards the fort. As he took several slow strides towards the door, he was a silhouette against the flame, a dark angel entering the gates of the dead.

His hand mechanically turned the burning metal of the lock. The wood of the walls was burning away at some points, but the doors remained intact. Caleil opened them and entered with the intent of destroying the past once and for all.

* * *

The tormentors were resting periodically. Sweat poured down their faces; the heat of the fire rising around them threatened to overwhelm them, and they knew that it would succeed at any moment. Their hands were slick with blood; their weapons reeked of it. But they knew that the night was almost over. In a few hours, Caleil would be here, and they would be free once more. They reveled in torture—but even the darkest creatures of the earth feel pain and discomfort.

However, those hours did not come to pass. Somebody noticed the doors open. The flames covered the air with fluid heat that made everything waver, but soon all of them clearly saw Caleil pass through the doors. They were confused, but that confusion was doused by relief. They flocked to him and stood around, awaiting orders, awaiting release...

But Caleil did not see them. He passed right through them, never looking anywhere but directly into the inferno. He walked forward. He let the fire become the wall that surrounded him.

And, once he was encased in this reality, the nightmarish memories flooded him with a suddenness that nearly knocked him off his feet.

Voices...there were voices in the flames, voices in the thickness of the air! He recognized them immediately. A tormentor's face was suspended before him and then lost in the blaze, then a father's, then a mother's. Their whispers overlapped; he could not make out their words. He could only understand a mixture of contempt, condescension, and regret. His hands rose to his head without him wanting him to, trying to block out the memories of this night and the imaginary sound of the voices of the past.

Caleil fell to his knees. His cloak billowed around him and followed until it lay across the ground and was covered in ash. There was a single face looming before him now, and a single voice that stood out and accompanied it.

"_Caleil...Caleil!" _

He jerked his head to the side; he had not realized that the sound actually came from somewhere. He turned quickly and he was destroyed. His eyes met eyes that actually existed, deep, grief-filled eyes that matched the voice he heard.

It was Legolas. Blood and gore coated his body, and he imploringly repeated his brother's name in a hoarse, dying voice.

Caleil had meant to end this night by entering the fort as a strong, deadly executioner, the artist behind the illusion. Instead, he broke down and screamed.


	16. Ch16: Life by the Fire Death by the Rain

Chapter 16—Life by the Fire, Death by the Rain 

_Life by the fire,  
__death by the rain;  
__Whispering solace  
__gently, gently reigns.  
__Tiny vessels...  
__Into their light you shed the pain._

_It rained so often these days; as everything grew older, the sky grew darker, the clouds heavier. The earth drank greedily, but nothing ever grew. Things had stopped growing some time ago. _

_But the rain today was somehow different...it was a gentle remembrance, an echo of yesterday. It was nothing but a light touch, a few refreshing droplets that made their way through the leaves and the trees to land on two golden brows. The sun was out—it had nothing to hide behind and no reason to hide. _

_They entered the forest side by side, coming in at a slanting fall from the heavens. Each ray of sunlight was a vessel for rain. Despite their minute size and the rapidness of their descent, each drop made a name for itself before surrendering to the earth; every last one managed to glint in the sunlight. For a moment it was illuminated, crystalline, and otherworldly—and then it was gone. _

_Rain in the sunshine. When Ilúvatar was in mourning, he sent tears that fell from a black cloud whose song was the thunder and whose face was the lightning. When he was joyous, he sent rain that sang with the silence; rain with a face comprised of diamond facets. There was joy here. There was peace. _

_They decided to walk slowly, just this once. The elves were the first kin of the earth; they shared the innocent calm it now embodied. Thus far they had not spoken—if the rain needed no words, why should they? The comfort that bridged their silence spoke for them instead; the simple pleasure of companionship went hand in hand with the rare clarity of this day. It rained, yet it was clear. Everything had cleared in the presence of the sunlight._

_The two princes were older now. Lifetimes had passed, and though shadow was beginning to creep back into the world, they managed to be both wise and joyous, for the shadows still clung to the darkness. Where there was no darkness, there was no sorrow. _

_Finally, as they neared the set of walls that had become so endearing and familiar, Caleil spoke in a voice that was quiet and reverent. "The clouds passed by Greenwood today; we are blessed to have a day without their gloom entrapping us." _

"_Such a sight grows rare," Legolas agreed. _

"_All shadows stretch from Mordor. There is no evil in the world that does not originate in its fires. Perhaps the foul monstrosities that dwell there have finally realized that there is nothing for them here." _

_Realizing the direction in which their conversation was turning, Legolas offered a small smile and a light tone. "I hate to be contradictory, Caleil, but at times I believe evil can also originate at father's war training." _

_Caleil laughed outright. He stretched an amiable arm around Legolas' shoulders. "Little brother, you have the right of it! Our most gracious king works his army to death. At least as his sons we enjoy his reserved privileges, such as being able to meander through the forest today." _

_There was a brief silence between them, and then both laughed again, the natural music in their voices echoing throughout the forest. Their simple happiness touched everything—even the trees seemed to relax further into the glow of the sun, even the leaves seemed to glisten brighter as they caught more of the dew-like raindrops. _

_It was no privilege to be out here, after all; simply the result of their sneaking away from training. _

"_Father will have our skins," Legolas said. The laughter lingered in his voice and touched the corners of his smile. _

"_Or pretend to, at any rate." As they arrived, Caleil stepped forward, taking the intricate lock in his hand and turning it fluidly. "Father knows exactly where we go every time we leave, Legolas. If he had wanted to, he could have sent guards to retrieve us hours ago." _

_Legolas had no dispute. He simply walked up beside his brother again, and together they entered their stronghold—a place that was radiant with peace and light even on the darkest days. On a day like this, it was like a small taste of Valinor. It had once been a clearing, so there was no great amount of trees blocking the sun, and the small expanse was flooded with gold. The moon-tree gleamed in the rain; the stream was full of tiny, clear ripples caused by the droplets. _

_Their conversation ceased once more—they were home. The love and companionship that these walls had housed was latent in the air, and centuries of both conversations and silence made all words obsolete. Legolas sat in the grass, his back against the moon-tree, and Caleil climbed up into the lowest boughs. They rested, they slept, they thought..._

_And sometimes they laughed without knowing why. _

* * *

The fire had grown magnificently. Caleil had fallen and become nothing, and so those who had stood by him were nothing; as he sank to the ground, they fled. Only death awaited them here. The light of the flames fell heavily on them, and their shapes—their features now as well—were evident, details springing to life on each shadowy individual as they made their way out of the collapsing doors. The heat was scorching their eyes, scorching the very air; they were detailed in the light but blurred by visible waves of heat.

The spectacle lasted only for a moment—they were soon gone. Caleil had failed, so they had also failed, and now the fire that Caleil had thought to master was spinning wildly out of control. It may be that some of them were lost in the blaze, caught by remnants of flame that clung relentlessly to them, or they may have been killed by scouts in the outer reaches of Mirkwood. Whatever their fate, the followers of Caleil were never heard of again. Ancadur was the last to leave—a single glance back, a moment of hesitation as the bloodied bodies caught his eye, and then he was gone. Only the fire remained in his wake. No rainfall could have quelled it.

Meanwhile, however, the earth stood still, rendering time and flame irrelevant. This momentary lapse was the revelation of a secret world. It could only have occurred in the presence of the impossible.

They were lying across from each other. Legolas was barely recognizable beneath a mask of blood, dirt, and sweat; none of his fair features were visible, save for deep, expressive eyes that contained both dire pain and childish joy. He was dark and dying and broken—but his heart only broke out of elation. It may have been the end, but Legolas had his brother again; at long last, they were together. He was looking into a face that held something far more meaningful and powerful than cold hatred.

"Legolas," murmured Caleil. "I can no longer see right and wrong. I can no longer tell if I am good or evil; I have been both."

No other person would have been able to make out the miniscule sound of his voice. Only Legolas' hearing was attuned to that voice; it had been so since his childhood. He would have heard Caleil's whispers in the middle of a battlefield. In turn, he spoke as well, even though his speech was hoarse and slow.

"You were gone...and now you are here. You were angry...afraid...but evil could not have touched your heart, never...there is something greater there."

Caleil was crying now. He did not sob, however; his tears were blank and neutral, flowing carelessly as though they were separate from his face and eyes. Everything in his world was confused, but the tears flowed to honor the end of all that had been done; they came because he had chosen to expel evil. There was sorrow and joy—one combination that will always produce tears.

Perhaps, if tears are like rain, there _was _rain that could quell the fire.

"I am happy to die here, in our place," said Caleil.

Legolas closed heavy, swollen lids, letting restful peace ease the burden of the pain. The end was finally near—no more searching, no more pleading, no more terror. "We die amid memory."

"There can be no apology for what I have done, Legolas."

"It is forgiven."

For an instant, it seemed as though Legolas had resigned himself to death. Only such awesome heat and pressure as this could have affected an elf, and as it bore down on him, it made the pain so complete that surrender seemed to be the only option. His eyes were shut and he lay as still as stone. However, just as Caleil was about to reach out to his brother, Legolas' eyes fluttered open, and he spoke the final words that the two princes would ever share:

"I love you, Caleil...as only a brother loves."

Then his head rolled limply to the earth. Rock and dirt and ash adhered to the moisture on his face, creating a crust that obscured him even further, as though the ground itself was rising to claim him. There was no evident life there; there was nothing at all, only an extension of equally lifeless soil.

The fire was rising behind Legolas' still form, and everywhere there were shadows and light.

In the moments that followed, Caleil fought against the temptation to surrender as well. He surely wanted it—he could not live with a monster dwelling inside of him, with the memories of death and endless, endless guilt. What easier way was there? He could close his eyes and touch his forehead to his brother's. They would fall asleep that way, just as they had as children, and both would die embraced by that tragic innocence. He would become part of the fire, just as Legolas had become part of the earth.

It was such a simple and elegant fate that Caleil could not understand why his heart protested so fervently. Whenever he tried to close his eyes, disquiet within him would force them open; when he tried to let his regret destroy him, something came alive in his mind and forbade sleep.

Surely the flames would reach them in moments. Caleil had carefully situated the points of ignition to control and downplay the fire's spread, but now the living, writhing tendrils were beginning to ravenously consume the rotting vegetation on the ground. Only the black stream protected them. It had stopped some of the fire's spread, but as the walls began to burn and break down completely, it became evident that they were almost out of time.

_Evil could not have touched your heart, never..._

_There is something greater there. _

Caleil begged the voice in his mind to stop, to let him die along with all of the wretchedness he had acquired. He was forgiven, after all. Forgiven by Legolas, the one person whose forgiveness he could trust, the one brother whose final love gave him permission to die, the only voice that could have brought him back...

The only brother he'd ever had; the one who lay here, either dead or dangerously near to death because of what Caleil had done to him.

It was an instantaneous realization. The full weight came crashing down on Caleil at once, and he started to tremble violently; he became so terribly frightened of himself that he would have gladly stabbed a knife into his own heart.

_He _had done this to Legolas...he had killed the person who deserved death least in the world.

Suddenly, Caleil knew what he had to do to achieve forgiveness.

* * *

It took all of his strength to stand. The overwhelming weariness in his heart was like a physical burden, and he was drained of everything except for the determination to make this final effort. He forced himself onto his feet. Even drawn to his full height, the steadily mounting flames were starting to spring up like walls around him, and his time was running out. It was suffocating, intimidating, and yet his mind needed to retain some focus.

Caleil immediately reached down and easily lifted his brother into his arms. Legolas was as light as a child, but the blood and filth that coated him made it difficult for Caleil to keep a firm grip on the younger prince's shoulders and legs. He dared spare a second to take in a breath, but the air that filled his lungs was so heavy with fumes that his lungs felt burned and violated, and the breath resurfaced for him to cough it out. There was no air left in this place—especially once he was standing. Doing his best to hold his breath and concentrate on his task at the same time, Caleil started towards the door, his movements based on instincts and will.

He tried to move quickly. It was quite an expanse to cover; the fortress was immense, even though the fire was steadily narrowing the room he had. Every few moments, some flame would catch a trail of dry vegetation and come racing towards him, a beautiful, fatal ribbon reaching out to cut off his path. He did his best to weave around them, but the effort was starting to seem worthless. Surely this limp body, so resolutely unmoving, so deathly weak, could not have any life left in it! Caleil's lungs were beginning to beg for air, his spirit for death...

And suddenly he was there. Caleil stumbled through the doors and left oblivion behind.

* * *

But someone remained in the midst of the fire, and his resistance was not that of elves...the flames drew closer, bringing with them the prison bars of mortality...

Caleil would realize it only after he had taken Legolas several meters from the fire and the younger elf murmured the ranger's name.

Meanwhile, Aragorn gave in. He let hope slip away.

* * *

There was something peaceful about being this close to death. It was as though Aragorn was slowly drifting away from his body, climbing a staircase of smoke until he reached a place where no smoke penetrated. It was a cool night. The air was soft and gentle, and the stars twinkled obliviously. He felt ready to climb higher and higher until light dominated darkness. Aragorn had seen that light before. It radiated from Arwen's smile, from her skin and eyes and the gem she had placed in his hand. It always shone when Elladan, Elrohir, and Elrond laughed.

He had felt its warm glow on those rare occasions when happiness touched Legolas' voice.

Aragorn realized that all lights became one when the world was left behind. Earendil's luminescence started to mingle with whatever light shone forth from the halls of Ilúvatar, and together, they made even firelight seem a welcome thing.

Then, silhouetted against a backdrop of radiance, he thought he saw the fleeting image of a dove, whole and pure. Unblemished. Dew dripped from the tips of its wings like gentle, glittering rain.

And abruptly the visage changed. The light that reflected in the dove's rain became the light of determination in a pair of sapphire eyes that looked into his, visible even through the haze and shadow of the roaring fire. Aragorn groaned as pain re-entered his body—he had been so free only moments ago. However, the small sound seemed to encourage his savior, and Caleil once again started the trek to the doors, struggling with Aragorn's weight.

* * *

This time, fire bit Caleil's ankles, and he cried out. The surprised cry became an anguished scream as the heat began to consume his leg, scorching skin from bone as easily as it had burned the leaves on the ground. Tears began to stream openly down his face; Aragorn bore the heaviness of any full grown man, for Legolas' light weight had been mostly an elven characteristic. The burden was crippling, especially as his legs began to blacken and die.

Soon, Caleil was on his knees, dragging both himself and Aragorn towards the doors. He had miraculously managed to keep Aragorn from touching the flames, probably because most of it was rushing towards him from behind. He continued to keep the ranger out in front of him, pushing the dead weight of the body along with all of his might and patting down any small fires that ignited on Aragorn's skin or remnants of clothing.

The fires that were lighting all across Caleil's body, however, were extinguished by no one...

He was directly before the doors when fire reached his back, fueling itself easily with his skin and the soft tissue of his scars. Screaming had become subconscious. The pain was all-consuming and blatant, coming in unyielding droves. Caleil dared a glance back—and sobbed piteously, even while he screamed. He had no legs. Shriveled, black stumps remained, with charred bones sticking out in awkward places. The fire climbed those bones greedily.

Knowing that this was the end, Caleil lunged forward with all of his might.

He managed to crawl to the spot where Legolas lay like a corpse, stripes of pale skin emerging between patches of burned skin and blood. He lay Aragorn beside his brother and stumbled backwards, trying to get as far away from them as his dwindling body would permit.

It reached his neck, his chest, his head, his eyes...

* * *

The beating of hooves sounded from Mirkwood's border. The pillar of smoke caused by the growing fire caught the eye of a dark-haired elf, and he and his sons turned their steeds towards the inner depths of the forest, pushing the beasts into a panicked gallop. 


	17. Chapter 17: Imprint in Time

**Wow. I have no excuse for updating this late. I'm just lame and have no time. **

**Please review? :D**

* * *

Chapter 17: Imprint in Time 

They rushed through enclosed space. The walls of Mirkwood thundered by; rock formations seemed to breathe as the lords of Rivendell rode just inches away from them, never dismounting, never slowing down until the throne room unfolded around them.

Elrond brought his stallion to a sliding halt. Thranduil was deliberating with advisors at the other end of the room; it had been a quiet moment, but now it was torn apart by three panicked horses and Elrond's ringing voice.

"Thranduil!" cried the lord of Rivendell as his terrified horse reared. "There is a fire! It consumes the western forest, not far from here!"

Thranduil looked up to see the dramatic image of the horse returning to earth, massive in the entryway. Dark resolve hardened his eyes. "How large? Can it still be contained?"

"At least fifty trees must have fallen by now. If you bring your people, there may be a chance!"

Thranduil nodded, silent. He exited the throne room—it was time to mobilize the forest.

* * *

They rode out in the darkness of the morning. A first army legion, disciplined to know the fastest trails of Mirkwood, rode out first, carrying a large array of tools and weapons to clear out any vegetation that might feed the fire. Next came a second mounted group, larger and slower. Each mounted rider carried a small barrel of river water and was accompanied by a barren horse, a larger barrel strapped to its back. The animals traveled relatively in queue—no one horse strayed from the group. Their barrels would be used to douse the fringes of the fire, quickening the containment and extinction.

Thranduil rode at the head of all his people with Elrond and the twins at his side. He saw the fire rising in the distance almost immediately. The sky had become nothing more than a backdrop for ravenous smoke. He paled at the sight of the rampant flames, dancing demonically in the sky and searing the life from the earth. What could have started it?

In his mind, Elrond was asking the same question, but the two silent elves beside him feared they knew the answer. Elrohir knew from Elladan's glances and from the fear in his twins' eyes that they were thinking the same thing.

Many centuries before, they had been in Mirkwood with their father for diplomatic assessments, back before it was consumed by Sauron's darkness. Elladan and Elrohir were good friends with the princes of Mirkwood, having known both to be kind, lively, compassionate, and slightly mischievous. The four had escaped from the tedium of their fathers' talks and the twins had been led to a secluded place deep in Mirkwood.

Caleil had said that Elladan and Elrohir were only granted entrance because they too were brothers. He and Legolas had seemed unduly excited, as though they were finally sharing some long-harbored secret. They led the twins to the wooden doors of the fortress.

And now, the expanse between them and that fortress was closing, but the fire cloaked the area of the forest that housed the sanctuary. Identical feelings of dread grew within the brothers. They secretly knew that every step was drawing them closer to Caleil, possibly closer to Aragorn, and possibly closer to some inescapable truth. What if that fire had consumed more than twisted trees and shadowed spiders? What if their younger brother, tortured or held prisoner, was bound at its core?

They knew the connection now, between the fire and Caleil and their brother, the connection between all things. The fire was mounting; in all likelihood, everything within the fortress was dead.

* * *

"_Contain it! Let it finish its burn, but do not let it spread!" _

Thranduil raised his voice until he was screaming the orders above the fire's roar. He was leading his horse at a gallop, remaining roughly fifteen feet away from the flame's border. The horse wouldn't go any closer. Thranduil felt only a subtle touch of warmth; he wondered what it should really feel like, if the heat should be scorching him. Luckily, his army and civilians had his same resilience. They systematically emptied the barrels and stayed close as long as they possibly could.

It hadn't taken Thranduil very long to realize what structure was ablaze: the Princes' Seclusion. That was what he and the top officials within Mirkwood had come to call it. He could still see blackened, jagged spires remaining of the walls, their silhouettes every now and then accented by the fire's rapidly changing light.

It didn't make sense. Thranduil found himself too confused for worry; his initial thought was of Legolas, but why would Legolas be here? True, Legolas had been gone from home, but as far as the king knew he had not visited the Seclusion since Caleil's death. No…there was nothing to fear here. It must have been an unfortunate accident. At any rate, he was glad to see it gone—all that was being burned away here was failure and memory. He could handle the loss of both.

He would _welcome _the loss of both.

Pushing thoughts of Caleil out of his mind, Thranduil continued to circle the perimeter, calling out orders.

The fire had created a border of ash.

As the efforts of the elves wore away at the edges of the flame, it gradually shrank back towards its center, leaving a clearly marked boundary of ruin. The contained burn was nearing completion. No cheers arose at the success of the effort; the billowing smoke, still ominous as it smeared itself across the sky, choked any of the available satisfaction.

Over the next few hours, some of the elves were allowed to return to Mirkwood by Thranduil's orders. Many remained to continue wearing away at the briefly flaring edges. The murderous heat began to quell; the fierce light began to darken and die.

The once great wooden walls that had risen around the Seclusion were now shriveled and serrated, their color worn to a smoky black. Even as the fire died, the flames descending the length of the walls, the smoke remained, climbing upwards from the wood in great spiraling plumes. The entire expanse reeked of fumes and ash.

However, in the midst of the torrent that barraged all of the senses—the ruins that met the eyes, the odor of death—the flames themselves wasted away. At last, the final dot of light shrank into the earth, leaving behind a dull lump of ash and a thread of smoke. The sky was black. With the fire gone, there was absolutely no light; all traces of the sun were blotted out, and the time of day was indistinguishable. It could have been the depths of midnight.

It was only in this stark contrast of darkness that the paleness of skin stood out.

"There's someone there!"

The twins would never know who spoke those words, but the direction of the voice arrested their vision. It was then that their identical stares rested on the twisted, skeletal figures stretched out beneath the withered mass of a tree. Phantom corpses were shrinking into the ash.

"Ada," whispered Elrohir. Elrond looked over his shoulder from where he had been standing beside Thranduil. The moment he did, numbness sank in—a sudden, lead weight.

The three figures on horseback, soon closely followed by Thranduil, hesitantly approached the prone silhouettes. Perhaps, inside, each knew what was lying beneath that tree. Each knew that, if any life was left here, it was slowly slipping away. It was drifting upwards with the last ribbons of smoke.

They were close, now. Their mounts came to a stifling halt.

"Valar…" breathed Elladan, his voice almost escaping his own notice.

"Estel."

A piercing cry lit the forest as surely as the blaze, torn from Elrond's throat. All four elves, pulled abruptly from their numbness, stumbled to the ground. The ash adhered to them. Darkness drifted away from the still figures; and it was as though they were briefly illuminated by the recognition that had come to salvage them. Tentatively, Elrond reached out and turned the shoulders of one of the specters outward.

The sight that greeted him was cadaverous.

They were both naked. Any shreds of clothing that had been left on them had been burned away, along with patches of skin and pockets of bloodied flesh. On both, the skin that wasn't hideously burned was so pale that it stood out like lamplight. Aragorn was worse—his skin had burned quicker, and he had been left to the fire longer. Even to his brothers, he was scarcely recognizable. Legolas' form beside him was only slightly more lifelike and decipherable.

Elrohir's voice drifted out of the silence, his suppressed sob entering into the strain of his words. "Is he dead, Ada?"

_Is he dead? _

…_Is he dead? _

The question played over and over in Elrond's mind. He wanted to answer—he wanted to say no. He wanted to hope, but there wasn't any hope, not when his son's mangled body lay before him.

Elrond's hands were trembling to the point where they were nearly beyond his control, and though he tried to feel a heartbeat beneath the charred skin of Aragorn's chest, the loose touch of the skin itself practically dissuaded him. He forced himself to press down over the left side of Aragorn's breast.

…He felt nothing.

Beside him, Thranduil also felt nothing. His hands were closed around Legolas' head, lifting it slightly off the ground.

"_Why is he here?" _whispered the elvenking, his voice distorted. "_Why would he be here?" _Thranduil's face was as pallid as the death in his hands, and his tears fell in stunned, trickling streams.

Elrond couldn't answer. He had no answers. The twins, kneeling now as they flanked their father, might have spoken Caliel's name, offering some explanation, but they couldn't speak. They could only watch, devoid of emotion and sensation, as Elrond's hand drifted to Aragorn's wrist and lingered there.

Waiting. The waiting was interminable.

Then, there it was, sudden as the fire's first burst of light: a miniscule throb, the hope Elrond had thought gone. The tiny beat of life.

Disbelieving, Elrond pressed harder into Aragorn's thin film of skin. It gave way easily—his thumb pushed against bones and veins. But the pulse came again. It was weak and fading, but it was there.

Thranduil had mimicked Elrond's movements. Their gazes locked as they both looked centrally, mutual understanding passing between them. It wasn't a miracle—it was merely a chance for hope.

"They're alive," Elrond breathed.

No longer recoiling from the ghastly touch of Aragorn's skin, he shoved his hands into the layer of ash that coated the ground. His arms emerged black…but they held his son. Aided by the twins—Elladan helping to support Aragorn's torso, Elrohir to pick up his legs—Elrond lifted his son's body. For a moment, he looked into the purple-hued bulbs of Aragorn's sallow, lidded eyes, willing life to return.

Childhood years weren't long enough for Elrond to love Aragorn. Now, they had parted without love, maybe for eternity. Elrond silently begged his mortal son to hold on to life long enough to be loved again.

If anything, let them love again.

Legolas was nearly weightless in Thranduil's arms. It was like holding a child, or like bracing his arms against weighted air. His movements were nearly coordinated with Elrond's as the two fathers draped their sons' bodies across their horses, mounting quickly behind them to support their listless weight. Thranduil's people were flooding around the horses now. Many failed to recognize the prince, and virtually none had seen Aragorn before, but the thought of being held prisoner on the opposite side of the fire terrified every heart and mind.

Thranduil had to scream against the gathering crowd. Only when his voice rose above the tumult, ripped from his throat by desperation, did the multitude part and allow the horses to break through Mirkwood at a gallop.

The road back to Thranduil's domain was clearly marked—a blackened trail, woven through the trees. Riding through those trees was suffocating. The world rushed past, more constricting than the Mirkwood's rock walls. Everything was lost in the blur of fear. Elrond and Thranduil felt only but ashen bodies thudding lifelessly against their chests.

The twins rode behind, creating a swift procession. But no amount of swiftness matched their need. With each passing second, life seeped from Caleil's victims—his victims, his saviors, his undoing.

One feeble, ambiguous prayer rose collectively in four minds.

Each, in his own way, prayed that they hadn't been too late. They didn't have to consciously think it for the plea to be there.

The prayer, after all, was hope itself: hope intrinsically linked to the will to love, the will to laugh, the will to breathe…

Life itself—the will to live.

Hopefully, that alone could raise the dead.


	18. Chapter 18: Dual Star Rising

**Well, what can I say in my defense? I definitely had time this summer. I definitely wrote CONSTANTLY. And yet...no update :( . I got caught up with my original works and with a new joined account I'm writing for, Louder Than Words 354 (If you like Rent, check us out!). But PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review. This story is almost done and I've got a couple chapters done ahead of time! As for my other stories, updates might be a little while coming.**

**Oh, and I have no idea why fanfiction refuses to save my page breaks...**

--

--

Chapter 18: Dual Star Rising

_We do not die.  
We combine worlds within ourselves  
until our breath  
catches,  
and we drift into life again._

--

--

The ages were sweeping by.

Millennia blurred together, a single vision. There were layers upon layers of sound. He heard voices but couldn't distinguish them; he saw faces but couldn't identify them.

Blood was a perpetual sheet in the backdrop of his memories. Instead of trees or familiar sights, there was a field of flesh doused in red. Pictures of skin flashed by, clubbed by iron weights. More blood appeared. Fire wove around chains.

Inwardly, he groaned. The hallucinations never ceased. They went hand in hand with a distant throb of pain.

Legolas didn't know how long he could hold on to life like this. He wanted everything to stop.

--

--

"Has either of them awoken?"

"Nay, Lord Elladan. I am sorry."

"It has been four days."

"They are in a delirium. They may be beyond waking. We are trying our best just to keep them alive…and everyday they are farther and farther from us. I fear the human will be gone within the week. I am sorry to be so frank, my lord, but the damage is extensive. There are broken bones and skin damaged beyond repair, and any possible head injury is still unknown to us. They were _tortured, _Lord Elladan—hideously tortured. That much we know."

Silence fell.

--

--

"_Deep down, you were fighting the temptation to save me…" _

"_Source of all evil…" _

"_Both sides of the moon…" _

"_You ask too many questions." _

"_O Mighty Prince of Elves…" _

"_I have no love for men." _

"_Why would he be here…" _

"_Caleil." _

Too many words. He was trapped inside of words.

One voice, however, was recognizable. It belonged to Aragorn. Legolas wondered briefly if Aragorn was dead—he could summon no more emotion than that.

--

--

No had had dared speak of Caleil to Thranduil.

The sight of Legolas was enough to push the elvenking beyond hope. The lords of Rivendell stood by him as he sat at his son's side; the son that none of them recognized. How could anyone think to lay another burden at that bedside? The truth would have to wait until it was fact that the two victims were going to live.

Or die.

Which looked like a distinct possibility.

Down the hall from Legolas's sickbed was another room, and in it there was even more desolation. A man both pale and charred, bruised and bloody. He straddled the border between death and dreaming. Either way, he wasn't alive. There was no telling if he _could _survive, if there was any shred of hope for his life, but right now he seemed beyond that. His brothers rarely visited his room; even Lord Elrond could barely look at him without being emptied of emotion.

For now, they waited and hoped for Legolas's recovery. Aragorn's would be a miracle beyond their hopes.

_But you have always defied hopelessness, _thought Lord Elrond to himself, standing in the stone hall between the two rooms, wanting to be in both at once. _I named you for hope. If you leave this world…there is no longer anything to keep it from succumbing to darkness. _

_Live for me, son. _

Distantly, Aragorn did not so much as stir.

--

--

_Is this reality? _

On the sixth day, Legolas opened his eyes.

It was a small, insignificant movement. He was barely aware of the world. His body…he could not feel his body. It simply was not there; it was a numb brick connected to his head. But there was a room, and a bed beneath him.

_Where am I? Who am I? Why am I this close to death? _

Amnesia. This place reeked of familiarity, but he still failed to place it.

He pressed his chin against his neck, trying to look downward. What he saw was a stained white sheet covering the length of his detached body. He wanted to remove the sheet. He wanted to see what was lying underneath, creating the systematic blood stains and the odor of decay.

Legolas told his hand to move. At first, it did nothing. He had no control.

Then, a rush of sensation.

His arm obeyed. The movement was accompanied by such a burst of pain that he had to lay it down again, gritting his teeth. But although Legolas did not know himself, he knew that he could deal with pain. He tried again. Through clenched teeth and beads of sweat, he managed to pull his arm upward. Clumsy, swollen, alien fingers wrapped around the top end of the blanket.

Gently, slowly, he pulled it away.

Legolas looked at the mottled mess with intrigue. This mutilation could not belong to him; therefore, he did not associate with it. His body was healing, that was sure—but in the healing stages, it was more horrendous than ever. Burn marks and scars, barely covered by new skin.

He touched the skin that covered some of the wounds on his stomach and chest. It was tender and pale, soft and filmy enough to be pressed and pulled away by fingers alone. But there was obviously skilled healing at work here. Wounds had been cleaned and stitched together, and the lifting of the blanket had given way to the fragrance of herbs.

_I wonder what happened to me. _

At that moment, the door opened.

The elf who entered had a regal bearing, even beyond his stooped shoulders and haggard face. He had dark hair and deep eyes; he wore simple garb and elevated it to kingly status.

Behind the regal elf entered his replica.

Legolas watched as they made casual conversation in the doorway. They were twins, obviously. Their mannerisms were familiar. Their voices stirred memories that were just beyond his access.

_I know them. _

The first elf turned and took a few strides into the room. He looked up along the bed…and his eyes met Legolas's.

Shock registered across the elf's face first, followed by amazement and relief. In an instant, he was kneeling by the bedside, his twin only a heartbeat behind.

"Legolas!" the first twin reached out to grab Legolas's hand, but retracted it quickly, changing his mind. "You are awake! How do you feel, mellon-nin?"

Legolas rolled his head to the side. He had not tested his voice; the scratchy whisper that emerged was nothing he recognized. "Is Legolas a name?"

Emotions conflicted in the elf's eyes. "Yes, yes it is."

"Is it mine?"

"Yes. Do you remember, Legolas? Do you remember anything?"

He strained his mind until he felt pressure behind his eyes. These faces were familiar, his name was familiar, this place felt like home…and yet, he had no names for anything.

"Give me another name," he said.

"I am Elladan," replied the elf, patient and gentle.

"Elrohir."

The name was a reflex. The two names went together, an inseparable pair. Legolas looked to the other twin, whose tears and smile confirmed that _he _was Elrohir.

"You," said Legolas. "You are Elrohir." He felt a soft smile on his lips.

"Yes, Legolas," said Elrohir. "We are your friends."

"Friends…" Legolas looked up at the stone ceiling, breathing in until his chest rattled. "Do I have more friends here?"

"All here are your friends and subjects," said Elladan. He touched Legolas's shoulder; the contact, oddly, was painless. "This is your home. You are their prince, the Prince of Mirkwood."

Legolas closed his eyes, letting the pressure build. He still did not remember Mirkwood. But the title…the title meant something.

"There is another prince of Mirkwood," he said. "I have a brother?"

The twins paused and shared a heavy look. Before they could respond, however, Legolas's attention drifted to the door. It was opening again. It gave way to more regality; the elf who entered was clearly a king. A gold-headed king.

And this gold-headed king stopped dead when he saw Legolas.

The two of them remained locked in a stare. The king was the first to break away as tears started, gaining momentum and leading into sobs. He stumbled, using the bedposts as his support, until he was at Legolas's side. The king fell to the ground then. He clasped Legolas's hands between his own and pressed his forehead against them.

Legolas felt tears streaming down his wrist. He ignored the pain in his hand, because he knew now that this was his father.

The name that had sounded alien only minutes before was now repeated over and over, breathed from the king's lips.

"_Legolas…Legolas…" _

Legolas still could not put a name to his father's face, but not even amnesia can refute a father's love. He stroked the king's hands with his mangled fingers.

The memories were creeping forward. He could feel them, dancing around his consciousness, waiting to be caught. As he caressed his father's hand, someone so obviously filled with love and compassion, he knew that those memories would not elude him forever.

_Thranduil. _

_Elvenking. _

Another name had returned. Legolas breathed it; it barely passed his lips.

For the next few hours and the next few days, he lay there and remembered. He remembered until he could place the faces of loved ones…until his life was his again.

--

--

_One week later…_

Nobody entered the room at night. That was what Legolas was counting on.

He had avoided this room ever since his memory of its inhabitant had returned. It had been a strong memory, a strong and painful one. So painful, in fact, that he had just now worked up the courage to confront it.

But he wanted to do it alone.

Every time Thranduil, Elrond, Elladan, or Elrohir passed this room, their eyes were filled with enough hopelessness and sorrow to trigger tears from bystanders, and to fill Legolas with an aching emptiness. He also had trouble doing anything of his own accord when the others were around. They treated him like porcelain; kept him confined to bed, their love like a chain. Legolas knew his strengths and limitations. His weak legs could get him across the hall, even down the hall, but he needed support to go any further.

It was convenient, then, that Aragorn's room was directly across from his.

The guards moved aside to let him in without any hesitation, even though it was almost an hour past midnight. Legolas nodded to them and opened the door. His heart was a numb weight bearing against his throat.

He walked in, sat in a chair beside the bed, and stared.

What had he expected? The man here, lit by the weak fluctuations of candlelight, was no one Legolas recognized. No memories stirred in the elf's mind when he looked at this ghost, this charred, bruised corpse that should have long ago been dead. There was a face, swollen beyond recognition, framed by a thin mat of hair. There was a malformed body beneath a thin sheet. Legolas stripped back the sheet; he needed to see the scars.

He knew these scars. He knew exactly what instruments had caused them. He knew the hand that had caused them. It was only after recognizing the scars that Legolas could fully recognize Aragorn.

_This was my battle. Caleil was my brother, a beast I should have slaughtered that night in the forest. If I had done that, this innocent man would never have been dragged into death. _

The thoughts were hollow. Legolas knew that he didn't see Caleil as a beast, and he knew that his first glimpse of this "innocent man" had been at an execution, and Aragorn had held the sword.

But Legolas still could not reconcile this. It was all wrong; it should not have happened this way.

Legolas slid his hand into Aragorn's. His own fingers were normal again, even though his whole body remained thin and pale. Aragorn's were rough and awkward to touch.

_These are the hands of a king. These hands are meant to heal. _

_But they cannot heal themselves. _

For the first time, Legolas cried. He leaned into the bed, pressing his forehead against Aragorn's. The smell of herbs and poultices coating the skin on Aragorn's face was strong enough to overwhelm the elf's senses.

Legolas cried with his entire body. If the bed had not been there to support him, he would have fallen to the ground. He trembled; he shook as the world stood still around him.

He cried because Caleil was dead. He cried because he had no hope left for Aragorn's survival. Legolas cried for everything, all the darkness in the world and the fires far away. His tears could never be enough to douse them.

The sobbing wore away at Legolas's frail body. When they finally died down, he felt too weak to stand. He let his torso sink into Aragorn's stained linens.

Catching his breath was a battle in itself, like calming a storm. A short while later, however, Legolas had won that battle, and the harsh, rattling, hyperventilating breaths became soft and even. He watched the movement of the candlelight with apathy.

The apathy was soon shaken, however, when Aragorn's fingers inexplicably closed around his own.


	19. Chapter 19: One Breath

**Hey everyone! I'm back, after a long hiatus. I'm sorry that my updates are taking as long as it takes to conceive and give birth to a child (ok, maybe not **_**that **_**long on this story, but on the others surely). I've been caught up with my first semester of college and have no regrets as to how I've been spending my time. Just know that I'm doing my best to get these chapters done; I still love my fanfics! So review and enjoy! **

**I hope you like the poem. I thought it had the same feel as the chapter.**

**

* * *

**

_**Chapter 19- One Breath **_

_our heads are attached to our shoulders and our necks  
snap, heads rolling away in  
guillotines of rainfall_

_breath_

_blossoms and bridges smell like log houses  
where life is born, where  
our bodies thirst and fuse_

_breath_

_we are dragons breathing out  
flames and breathing in silhouettes,  
our own, setting fire to our brother's house_

_breath_

_burn wounds leave scars and blankets  
leave scars and voices  
leave scars and breathing_

_  
leaves scars shaped like constellations_

_breath, breath, breath..._

_

* * *

_

Legolas had seen enough death.

He refused to watch another person slip through his fingers. So, instead, his fingers held Aragorn's every night until the human responded. Perhaps it was a reflex, and the human's mind was gone—but Legolas found comfort in the limp grip all the same.

The elven prince, still by no means done with his own recovery, massaged poultices into Aragorn's swollen skin by candlelight. He treated the wounds gently and firmly. The flesh was tender enough that it started to bleed if pushed, so Legolas had to be patient in making it taut and strong again.

The burn wounds left their scars. A trail of the malformations would forever taint Aragorn's chest and back. The human's limbs were mostly covered in abrasions, though the fire had tainted areas of his legs as well, scorching patches of skin like bread charred by oven fire.

As for the face, it was still too early to tell if the skin that settled would be permanently scarred.

Legolas filled his mind with technicalities. He thought of the wounds objectively, seeing them as individual pockets of skin to be treated. He tried not to think of the fact that those wounds comprised his friend and brother.

He worked in the late hours of the night, until his body revolted against keeping itself upright. His senses were overwhelmed; everywhere, he saw linen doused in inconsistent light and smelled the stinging odor of herbs. Sometimes, he spoke to Aragorn, or to himself. His voice was a whisper that faded into the air, evaporating like a fume.

Tonight, Legolas was feeling Aragorn's face. Some of the skin had responded to Elrond's ministrations; swelling had gone down, especially around the eyelids. Legolas tilted Aragorn's head into the light, letting it fall limply against the pillow, so that he could better see the progress.

What he saw looked almost human again. The eyes had shrunk back into the skull, so that the eyelids, even though they were pale and flimsy, closed normally over the eyes themselves. He still looked more like a corpse than a sleeping man, but at least he looked like a man.

Legolas lay his head down against some of the corner bed cushions, resting them on his arms. He was so tired. Within seconds, he was drifting in the hazy unconsciousness that elves experience, where the real world would occasionally come into focus behind the foreground of his dreams.

* * *

Later that night, Legolas thought he felt arms descending upon him and lifting him away. He imagined that they were Eru's arms, and that he would soon be visiting Caleil in the halls of Mandos.

Legolas's open eyes greeted reality again the next morning, only to find that reality had shifted and everything was gone—the smell of herbs, the sight of Aragorn's healing face. He was in his own bed, and he was staring at the mottled stone of the ceiling.

Still confused, Legolas turned over and raised himself slightly, using his elbow as support. His body felt like water weighed down by stones.

As Legolas adjusted to the waking world, his ears picked up the shallow sound of breaths, coming from the end of the bed. He was not alone in this room. He pushed himself up against the bed frame and turned to address his visitor.

It was Elladan. The elf was sitting by the foot of the bed, his shoulders stooped. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot. All of the regal bearing had been abandoned; here was a prince with the unkempt hair and clothing of a wild man. Lines of worry were engraved into his face, deep little canyons of thought.

"Elladan," said Legolas softly.

The elder twin immediately became alert. His gaze met Legolas's, although his expression remained strangely distant.

"You were gone a long time," said Elladan, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Then I assume you have been here long?"

"I brought you back last night."

Legolas nodded. He sat up in bed, even though moving upright made blood swim in head. He focused on the shifting vision of Elladan's face, even though it felt as though a mallet were tapping against every corner of his skull. "What troubles you, brother? "

Legolas had expected hesitation, but the Noldor elf replied instantly. "What right do you have, _brother, _to hold on to hope when the rest of us have forsaken it? To hold on to Estel when the rest of us have accepted that he cannot be saved?"

The word, _estel, hope, _was the same. It sounded like a repetition.

Elladan continued. Legolas could only watch, entranced, as tears formed like a steady rainfall in his friend's eyes, spilling unabashed. "You stay awake with him, as though you are the only one able to care for him. But you are not the only one who goes to visit him late at night. I sit there by his side and try to find life in him, but there is nothing. What do _you _see, Legolas? He is my brother too! So what conceit in you allows you to have hope for him when I can summon none?!"

Without waiting for a response, Elladan's face fell into his hand, and the elf leaned into his tears with his whole body.

Legolas had nothing to say. His voice was too dull to break into Elladan's sorrow.

Legs trembling, Legolas stood and stumbled to Elladan's side. He wrapped his arms around the elder twin's shoulders, drawing the shaking body into his own.

"He _is _hope," Legolas whispered, once Elladan's sobs had disintegrated and become panting dog breaths. "_He _gives it to me. Believe with me…maybe it will make him breathe tonight."

Elladan drew back. He wiped his face, leaving a dark patch of moisture on his sleeve. "They say that you breathe before death," he said. "He may breathe once and then never do so again."

"Maybe."

Elladan's eyes became narrow, and his body went stiff as wood. He stood and strode out the door—an abrupt seizure of movement that did not include a glance back or a final word.

Legolas was left with his own doubt. His bed still smelled of sickness; he hated the touch of the sheets, which felt like the kiss of a ghost, and he hated the flaccidity in his muscles. He was tired—he could not sustain both his life and Aragorn's much longer.

Though, if he had to choose between them…

* * *

It was another night in a long string of nights. Legolas was by Aragorn's limp body, pressing his hands against the tender skin that formed his friend's now-recognizable face.

As Legolas breathed in the charred, mint-tainted taste of the air, he became aware of the dry sticking patches in his mouth and throat, the gnawing pain reaching up from his stomach. When had he last eaten? Had anything to drink?

_I'm dying. _

Elrond had saved Legolas, and now Legolas was killing himself. During the day, Legolas saw it in Thranduil's eyes—the pain, the confusion, the tendency to look away. Arguments rose up in the hallways, hushed yells bounding off the stone walls, every other word coming back to Legolas's name.

"_Thranduil, your son's condition is no fault of mine! My own son is dying, and you fault me because Legolas is not taking advantage of the life I have given him?" _

"_Elrond, Legolas's strength should be returning, not waning! Have you seen his eyes? He looks past me. He does not see me. His mind is somewhere distant, as though some ghost is blinding him. Legolas is more lost to me now than ever, and what can I do?" _

"_What can any of us do? What _more _can I do? Aragorn's life is on a thin thread, and I doubt I can save it. Please, Thranduil. Leave me to grieve. Do not burden me with the further grief of the living." _

Legolas ignored the memory of the words. He ignored his stomach, the way his organs crumpled and groaned within him. He let his mouth suck in air to paint his dry gums. Dipping his fingers into a waxy mixture of root and herb, he began to work again at saving his friend.

* * *

"My brother is upset."

Legolas did not face the doorway. "I know. He was angry with me today. Is it all because of this, Elrohir?"

"Yes, because of this."

"Because he has given up, and I have not. Have you?"

Wood scraped stone with the sound of a rolling log as Elrohir pulled up a chair and sat at the bedside. Legolas looked at his friend and saw the earth, the weariness of years in eyes and hair colored like bark, in yellow light wrapping around the pale green of Elrohir's garb.

"Estel?" whispered Elrohir, laying a hand on the creased linen that fell across Aragorn's leg. "Can you hear me, brother? You see a gray light, I know, and you see feasting halls that resonate with song. This must seem a poor alternative—a shattered body, a broken world. I feel selfish, that I ask you to endure it for me."

Tears built up slowly in Elrohir's eyes, like the slow unfolding of a story.

"But please…I beg you nonetheless, Estel. Because I _am _selfish, and I _do_ want you to live longer for me to love you. Elladan and I will make our love like a thousand heavens if you return…as will Legolas. As will my sister, who has bound your heart to Middle Earth. So return, brother. Please return. Please…"

Legolas turned away while Elrohir cried, even though he put his arm across his friend's shoulders. He had seen too many tears. He was immune to them.

* * *

_Do I have to return? _

Gray light and constellations, all hovering above a world engulfed by tornado winds…

* * *

"The herbs are healing the skin," said Elrond. "But the blood that has been lost is lost."

He lowered the sheets back over Aragorn's body. He spoke as a healer, as a detached stranger looking through a window—not as a father. "I can continue with the poultice treatment, which you have helped me with, Legolas."

The look he gave Legolas was not altogether favorable.

"But at some point, we must let the body rest. If the muscles and the mind do not respond in the next few days, we must assume they will no longer respond."

Legolas pressed his fingers into Aragorn's wrist, testing the pulse. It was gentle and distant, like the fluttering of an eyelash.

"Let me see your chest."

Legolas looked up. "Lord Elrond?"

"Actually, remove the tunic altogether. I have to examine the gashes on your back as well."

Legolas began to unwrap the cloth, as slowly and distractedly as a child dressing for the first time. The air that greeted his skin was touched with the warm hint of candlelight.

Elrond sat beside Legolas, where Elrohir had been earlier. The elven lord reached to the bedside table, where his various bottles and bowls of herbs resided, and coated his fingers with clear, speckled gel that smelled of dry fruit.

"Does your skin still hurt?" asked Elrond, massaging the cream into Legolas's chest.

"A little, when I dress. The bones and muscles beneath ache more."

"You have been tiring them. They should be at rest. Are the cuts I have sewn healing?"

"I believe the skin is closing. Truthfully, I have paid little attention to them."

"Turn around. Let me see them. We may be able to remove the thread soon."

Legolas turned in his chair. A chill ran through him as Elrond dampened a cloth and cleaned the threaded wounds. Looking for an escape from the ache in his body, Legolas watched Aragorn's face. It was cadaverous now—but not swollen. Skin folded against contours of bone.

"I am satisfied with the way your wounds are healing, Legolas," said Elrond. "However, I can only continue to work with the cuts and burns that are skin deep. Caring for your body is your responsibility as well, and if you continue to exhaust your muscles and strain your body systems, I cannot help to—"

"Lord Elrond! Look!"

Aragorn's head had rolled across the pillow, falling to the other side. It was not the loose movement of a corpse—it was the deliberate reflex of muscle.

Legolas latched onto the instinct of hope. Hope made his senses come alive, even made his body respond. He stared at his mortal brother without blinking, as though the strength of eyes could wake the dead.

"A reflex, Legolas," whispered Elrond tentatively.

"No, my lord. I have seen his reflexes; the spasm of fingers, the head jerking like a madman's. This movement was different, my lord, it was different! It was…"

Legolas's words stumbled away. He could almost feel as Elrond tensed, the lord's breath suspended somewhere in his throat.

"Legolas…Valar, Legolas!"

They watched, enthralled spectators captivated by a demonstration of life. They watched as Aragorn sucked in a single breath that rattled like wind through a cage…

And then, exhaled, and breathed in another.


	20. Chapter 20: A New Exile

I do plan to finish this story! Thank you for your patience.

_**Chapter 20: A New Exile **_

A block of darkness had starved his vision. When he opened his eyes for the first time in months, even brown-gray stone was as harsh as a flash of sunlight. He blinked. His eyelids were slow to respond.

His skin felt like clothing – detached, folded, unresponsive. Underneath, pain sat in his chest and muscles like an anchor.

"I feel…loose…" muttered Aragorn.

A hand massaged his chest. The fingers were covered in something cold and wet, something that smelled of smoke and roses.

"I am here with you, Estel."

The voice, soothing as a lullaby, reached out from memory and dream.

"You have been here all along," Aragorn whispered.

The fingers stopped. A refreshing numbness sank in through his skin, like cold water pouring over muscle and bone.

Aragorn groped blindly, trying to find that hand again and pull it close. Immediately, he felt chilled skin slide into his palm, felt a tender squeeze.

"And I will remain here."

* * *

After three days of blurring, blinded eyesight, after three days of soft, pliable food being eased into his mouth, after three days of herbs and voices and stone ceilings, Aragorn could finally remember and react. He remembered enough for nightmares to surface. When he slept, he saw fire and chains and bloodstained tree bark. The dreams distorted Caleil's voice into that of a monster, the hoarse rattle of chains at midnight.

"Will you try to walk again?"

Aragorn tilted his head as far as his neck allowed, and saw Elrond sitting at the foot of the bed. Then, pain shot through his spinal chord and radiated in the base of his skull. He dropped back down with a groan.

"We can help you, Estel. Just like we did when you first learned to walk. When was that? A year ago?"

_When did Elrohir get here?_

The jest tapered into silence. Since waking, Aragorn had seen many tears—tears of relief, of joy, of frustration—but had not heard enough laughter, that happy spasm as refreshing as clean rain.

For Aragorn, laughing was painful. It pulled blood up through his lungs.

"Leave it be, Ada. Let him rest. He is not yet ready."

With that, two sets of footsteps shuffled out of the room.

One person remained beside him.

"Do you never leave?" muttered Aragorn.

Legolas stood and a shadow swept downward. "Not until you come with me."

Aragorn stared up at a length of silver-blue silk. Legolas seemed healthy; his skin had lost regained its color and his eyes were alert. Aragorn tried to remember what it felt like to not be in pain.

"You look well," said Aragorn. "When I awoke, you were a walking ghost, your state no better than mine."

"Well, I could walk. You have yet to master that."

"You are healing."

Legolas smiled. "Yes. Now that I know you will recover and live, I can eat and sleep and breathe. You will not die. So I will not die."

"You think that two fates can be bound in such a way?"

"We were tied forever, Estel. By burning wood and flame. Do you think my heart can abandon that night because it has passed?"

Aragorn sighed. His eyes shifted to doorway. He still felt Elrond on the edge of the bed, felt Elrohir standing by the post, both of them with their hard gazes and frustrations and loneliness. Yes, loneliness. Loneliness like a column crumbling in a ruined castle, far from any ears that care to hear, loneliness like the dry rocks on the riverbank waiting for summer waters to rise. Forgotten. Unnecessary. Waiting.

"You know why I cannot let them help me," said Aragorn. "You know why I can only bear to see _you." _

"Of course. Because they are not in your nightmares."

Aragorn shut his eyes against the truth. He opened them swiftly when the images started to race past.

"What do you mean?"

Now, Legolas heaved a breath and looked outward, away from Aragorn, his gaze bearing against stone.

"I mean that every person here is like some figment of a bright past, the light far behind you in a tunnel. You have come out of the shadow, but the world is still dim, like muted music or a thin blanket across your skin, like a veil stitched to your eyes. Everything they bring to you is harsh. They are warm, as sunlight is, but you cannot look at them without being blinded by some purity that you no longer possess. Your vision will adjust with time. Until then, you will have to dance around each other, light baiting shadow, a new exile that your nightmares have created.

"The only thing you can see, the only thing your eyes can focus on, is the silhouette as dim as you. You see, Estel…we can speak to each other because we both sense when to be silent. We know when to avoid the shadows that spring up and when to confront them. We are stalked by the same beasts, and only together can we hunt them.

"I was there that night. I was burned through layers of skin. I lay in a delirium for what seemed like millennia, and all I could hear were scattered voices like the notes of a broken instrument. All I could see were nameless faces, frustratingly familiar.

"And now? Now I fear sleep because my dreams are as vivid as my physical senses. I do not want to hear any comfort, any speculation, any questions. I only want to be with the one person who understands what it feels like; someone who can match me for every small, insignificant emotion."

The pause of a heartbeat.

"Me," whispered Aragorn.

"Yes. You. Someday, they will all understand."

Aragorn nodded. Oddly, the motion hardly hurt.

"Will you help me stand now, Legolas?"

They reached out and touched. When Aragorn felt his brother's hands close on his arms, warm and strong as any fortress, he knew that he could find the strength to stand.

* * *

_Five Days Later_

From that moment, they had been inseparable, shadow matched to shadow, voices timed to match every silence, every laugh, every word spoken.

They knew when to speak about Caleil, about their journey, and when to leave it in memory. The others watched like outsiders peering through the aperture of a barred door.

Elrond watched from behind a gentle curve of stone. Aragorn and Legolas sat at the far end of the dining hall, bandaged and pale and smiling. Their bodies remained dipped in death, but slowly, they were healing—an inner process radiating out.

"Do you think he will ever let _us _in again?"

At first, Elrond did not respond to Elrohir's voice. He preferred to listen as a whisper of laughter filled the radius of negative space surrounding Aragorn. It died off into quiet—quiet that might have lasted forever.

"After all, why should he?" continued Elrohir. "We would have let him slip away. We were not the ones at his bedside day and night. We never fought for his life because we were busy grieving, as though he were already dead. I could not blame him—"

"Son. We also were not chained beside him. We never slept beside him in the bloodied dirt."

Father and son stopped speaking and let snatches of the hidden conversation drift their way.

"_I shot a bow and arrow yesterday." _

"_Oh really? Could you hit a thing, with those skeletal arms?" _

"_I hit every target, thank you. And I note that you have yet to pick up your sword. I do not blame you. If my muscles were still that useless, I might drop it and slice off a foot." _

"_You could not have lifted my sword at your full strength." _

"_I could have lifted your sword and fired it from a bowstring." _

Elrond pulled away, redirecting his senses. He leaned his head into a crevice of cool stone. He finally glanced at Elrohir, who stood beneath the gentle undulations of torchlight, a dance that had become unsettling following the fire. Half of Mirkwood had served as a torch. That light—blood-dripping light with its spirals of smoke—had twisted its way up to the clouds, scorching and hiding the moon.

"Give him time," said Elrond simply. "We weren't willing to give him time when he lay in that bed. Instead, we were willing to give up."

Elrohir sighed. He stared forward into the dining hall. "He has the blood of our kin," he said. "But he might as well be one of the Eldar. No other mortal could have survived this. I doubt that another man of Númenor could have survived this."

"He is a king among Men," said Elrond. The words slipped out as easily as breath, water. "And among kings, he is the most valiant, the most promising, the one who could change the course of things to come. A shadow approaches. He could be the crux on which everything turns."

Yet even as he spoke these praises, these truths, Elrond saw only one thing: the image of a face, white as winter dawn and flawless as polished marble. Dark hair highlighted by the reflection of jewels. Eyes that stared out of the Luthien legends, but more importantly, the eyes that had stared up at him millennia before as his daughter slid a fragile hand into his fingers. Lips that kissed a father's cheek, lips that whispered stories in brothers' ears.

Elrond saw Arwen. He saw her as clearly as he saw the half-ghosts before him. Aragorn would heal, but wounds that had faded into the backdrop for a while were beginning to throb again. The most difficult decisions lay ahead.

* * *

They silently agreed to venture into the starlight.

They did not go far beyond the walls of Thranduil's stronghold. The trees of Mirkwood still masked horrors, horrors that breathed—or worse, horrors that made no sound at all.

Stale fumes rose off the twisted trees and tainted the air. All the same, Aragorn and Legolas welcomed any air at all. They had been breathing in the mint and rosewater scent of their own ointments for weeks, and so now they stood just outside, facing the forest with their backs against stone.

"I long to ride away from here," said Aragorn as the two looked up at a pocket of star-specked sky. "But I do not know where I would ride to. Staying here much longer is sure to drive me mad, Legolas."

Legolas nodded. "I agree. My own home becomes a barricade. All the same, I feel I will be here for some time. My father deserves to have me beside him as he grieves for Caleil. Again."

"It is a strange thought," said Aragorn. "One person should not be able to die twice."

Legolas said nothing. He had no answer. His gaze purposely drifted away. Shifting sounds came from the forest, the scratching of animals, low gusts of wind.

Once again, Aragorn filled the quiet.

"I am beginning to piece together the gaps, Legolas," he said.

"What gaps?"

"The gaps in the story. The motivations. Everything we missed as we made our way through the mountains and everything we could not have known. See, the story has played out now. We came together exactly as Caleil had planned, but how did he plant the initial seeds?"

"He planned it out so well," said Legolas quietly. "So meticulously. Malevolently. I still cannot believe it."

"He meant for you to find me as you found me, my friend. Standing over a corpse. He meant for us to experience betrayal from others in our lives, so that our friendship would become all the more important and the torture more potent."

"I do not follow."

"Táridil. Finhîr. He tortured them. They were strong men, honest men. We trusted one another. And yet I slew them. How could I have thought they would turn for a simple bribe? What foolishness, what conceit drove me to think I could act in the name of justice? I have killed innocent men. Men of a dwindling, noble race who should have lived! My _own _dwindling race…"

"Aragorn. You could not have known at the time. In the mountains, you acted in self-defense."

"In the mountains, yes. But not the first time. The first time, I unleashed the most severe consequence without full knowledge. I failed in my judgment and a good man is dead."

He paused. Legolas reached out and put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, but Aragorn felt nothing. His eyes were glassy, out of focus.

"…what have I done, Legolas? What monster am I?"

The night stretched on around them. They were there for hours, maybe, in the ethereal soundscape and the isolated patch of starlight, filling in the holes of their story.

* * *

Sometime around dawn, Aragorn said: "I cannot go home."

"Why not?"

Aragorn looked over at his friend in the thin paltry dawn light that edged its way through the trees. Legolas had his back against stone, his face tilted towards the sky, his eyes wide and unblinking.

"Have you been asleep?"

"I do not sleep. Not in the mortal way, with disgusting noises and incoherent rambling."

"But you have been resting."

"What does it matter? You have not been talking. The advantage of not sleeping is that the minute you did speak, I was able to respond."

"How long have you been asleep? Or your equivalent?"

"Stop deflecting. We are both weary. Why do you feel you cannot return to Rivendell?"

In that moment, Aragorn tried to imagine her waist in his hands. If he could place her there mentally, maybe his palms would feel less dry and empty. He felt a tug on his chest as he longed for her head on his shoulder, her hair in his fingers. After the entire ordeal, her words and touch seemed like divine comfort as unobtainable as his dreams.

"I owe it to Lord Elrond," he said.

"What? He wants to see you safe and healed. Why would he want you to stay away after all he has done?"

"_All he has done. _Exactly. What kind of repayment would it be for me to return, and to throw him back into the horrible choice between his son and his daughter?"

"You think it would be cruel to him if you returned to Arwen."

"Yes."

"But your heart is breaking."

"…yes."

Silence. Far off, beneath the sunrise, the world was stirring.

Finally, Legolas said: "He loves you, Aragorn."

Aragorn nodded and fought against the weight of his eyelids as they tried to drift shut. He needed sleep.

"Yes," he whispered. "He does love me. But given the choice, he would choose her."

"Her immortality is on the line. She will pay a bigger price for your love. Of course he would choose her, but not because he loves her the most."

"He has always loved her the most. Her brothers love her the most, as do I. How can we help it?"

"Aragorn…"

The man stood straight and turned. Abruptly, without a glance back at the forest or at his friend, he began to walk back inside.

"I sound like a child," he muttered. "And I need to sleep. I must leave in the morning."

"It _is _the morning."

"The morning beyond this morning."

"You mean daytime?"

"No. Well, yes, that is what I mean. I just need to leave. After I sleep and wake up again. That is when I will leave."

Just as he reached the entryway, Aragorn felt a hand on his shoulder. The touch had become so familiar—a brother's touch.

"Aragorn, you know that you always have a home here," said Legolas. "This can be your home. Where I am—that can be your home."

Aragorn paused. He smiled, but the expression was dull.

"Some men are born to have homes, Legolas. Some men are born for families and friendships and love. But some men are exiles and born to be alone."

Aragorn walked inside without another word. Legolas stayed where he was, alone in the humid dawn, stunned by the statement, stunned by the fact that it was true.

* * *

Inevitably, Aragorn dreamt of Rivendell that night.

He did not dream of the bridge in the glade where he loved to hold Arwen most, there under the softest shades of either night or day, a twilight moment. His dream did not contain the senses he associated with her: the smell of hair, the touch of skin and veil-like garments, the taste of her lips or cheek.

Instead, he dreamt of standing out on a veranda with a world of water and trees unfolding before him as though in motion. Rivendell was quiet. Aragorn had not been blessed with the keen hearing of the Eldar, but somehow, in this vast space, he heard a single thing: hooves on cobblestones, landing like dull hammer blows.

He looked down to where the cobbled circle formed a path before the gate. The horse stood there, far from him, its coat a shade of grey just beyond white. A figure walked alongside it, hand on its neck, leaving the horse free of bit or bridle. She wore a green gown. Aragorn had rarely seen her in green; she looked like a piece of the earth, detached and moving freely.

The sound of hooves died into emptiness as horse and rider stopped moving. Aragorn felt his breath stop, his heart lurch with heaviness, as though armed ranks were running towards him—but there was no threat here, she was only turning her head.

Their eyes caught. Her smile captured all the light in the world, placing her in a field of shadow.

Aragorn awoke almost immediately to find himself surrounded by stone, an extension of that same shadow. He sat up and let the linens fall away from where they stuck to the dampness on his skin. His eyes focused on the floor, the wall, the bedsheets, on nothing. He was aware of everything that was not her.

For the first time in weeks, his dream had not been a nightmare. Aragorn smiled. The wilderness waited for him, but she did as well, on a cobbled road. He only wondered if she would wait a lifetime.


End file.
